Bloodhound
by Fluidfyre
Summary: With the Mother dead, Neria & Alistair settled into familial life and their duties. Since the Blight, Cullen has struggled with his inner demons to refind his path to the Maker. When he learns of what happened to Neria, is it too much for him? Post DA:A.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is the sequel to 'The Mage & the Mother', post DA:A - but it can be read as a stand alone story too. I hope you enjoy it! I always look forward to hearing comments/criticism/ideas from readers! _

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The third story in the trilogy of a bookish elven mage, raised in the seclusion of the Tower of Magi and exposed to the world. She grew to be a soldier, a commander, and leader through necessity in order to save the world from the Blight and live up to the moniker bestowed upon her - Commander of the Grey, the Hero of Ferelden.

With the Mother dead and Alistair returned from Weisshaupt, Neria Surana settle into an amicable routine at the Vigil's keep with their adopted children, Fae and Calevar. The duties of leading the arling weigh heavy, and word comes from the Circle that the decree of their independence given by Queen Anora is unheeded by the Chantry. Given the taste of freedom, it seems there is much more the world could offer - and more she could give. But do expectations ever change?

Meanwhile, within the Tower, Cullen still struggles to come to terms with his torture during the Blight and fulfill his duties.

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_SPOILER WARNING_: Dragon Age:Origins, Dragon Age: Awakening, as well as the two books by Gaider, The Calling and The Stolen Throne. I use information from all of them in my stories.

Dragon Age is the property of Bioware, I make no profit from this, I just love the universe(s) they and their writers think up, and can't help but get sucked into them in my imagination!

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* * *

"Though the trials I face are many,

I shall remain strong. I shall wade against the river's current.

I shall sustain.

What ember is granted shall be carried to the hearth.

Though the weight of the sins lie heavy upon me,

I shall bear the load. I shall turn my face to the dawn.

I shall shine.

A beacon for His Light in the darkest places."

_ - Trials 1:12-13_

Kneeling before the altar, Cullen swayed with the tempered meter of words that murmured on his lips. His hands had been clasped together for some untold time, his prayers creating a space all their own, devoid of its passage. It was his harbour and solace, speaking for rote the words he memorized years ago. A time when the Maker's light was pure and the path to His side unblemished.

He became aware of a presence behind him, and finishing the verse, Cullen took the silver sword of mercy that hung about his neck and pressed it to his lips. He dipped his head to the Knight-Commander as he turned around.

"Commander," Cullen quietly said, "Did you require my assistance?"

"No," Greagoir replied, motioning through the chapel. Cullen followed him away from the initiates that lit the candles for the coming evening service. They would follow back to back, allowing all of the templars to attend without shirking their watchful duties. "Merely to speak. I apologize for disturbing your meditations."

Cullen moved with care, limbs stiff from kneeling in his armour. The pain reminded him - and if he were to ever grow beyond it, he could not ignore it. "I am but a servant, ser. The Maker's will be done."

"Yes," Greagoir said, lips in a dubious line. They continued into the hall, walking in silence past a mage apprentice that hurried in the opposite direction. "I had wished to see how your recovery is progressing. It has been some time since we spoke of... what happened during the Blight."

"You need not worry, ser. My faith is stronger than it ever was," Cullen followed him rigidly, watching with fervour any room they passed. "It has been my haven."

"Your piety has never been in question, Cullen," Greagoir replied. "I have never known you to refuse any assignment if you were able-bodied to complete it. "

"Thank you, ser."

The Knight-Commander led him across the tower to his rooms. He was the only templar within the Circle allowed privacy - much like the mages, they filled shared dorms and followed a rigid schedule. "Ser Teynen has expressed concern."

Cullen 's expression blanked as he looked down, hands clasping air at his sides. Teynen was one of the men in his dormitory.

"Cullen, if you are having difficulties sleeping - if you are encountering unnatural beings in the Fade -"

"They are much improved, I assure you," he hastily said, furrowing his brow. "I suffer but for the memory of our brethren. Though the years pass, their deaths are no less heavy in my mind. I cannot neglect their sacrifice."

"And no one is asking you to," Greagoir impressed, draping his hand over the scroll on his desk. "But you know as well as I they have gone to the Maker's side. They exist without misery and bask within His light. They do not wander, and they are without pain."

"Blessed are the righteous," Cullen recited, relaxing slightly as he looked to his Commander. "I - I know they have found peace, ser. But for their earthly presence, I cannot forget."

"Well enough," the Knight-Commander said, taking up the scroll. "I know you have been cooped up in the Tower for some time, and with the two new initiates needing proper training, I felt that this assignment could be served better by no one. A child is being held in Highever - he has shown signs.

"As you know, their chantry has not yet recovered from its destruction during the Blight. They cannot spare the few templars that maintain a vigil in the town, so I ask that you take Lecia and Jonah. It shouldn't be difficult, but you may observe them and ensure they maintain their vows and act according to the prophet's will."

"Of course, ser," Cullen said.

"Your provisions will be ready by dawn," Greagoir said, and waved his hand. "Dismissed."

* * *

"I'm not cut out for this anymore. We need more recruits to do the dirty work," Anders muttered as they trudged up the last hill towards the keep. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun cast cold shadows across the wintery land. The snow crunched underfoot, a fresh layer on the beaten, rutted road.

Neria just grinned, "Well, I have been thinking of going to the Circle to recruit. It's hard with just you to put up with."

The third Warden with them chuckled, pulling up from his scarf, "Him? What about the rest of us who's got to put up with the likes of you mages?"

"Are you not wanting enough for a bed, Anthony?" the Warden-Commander replied, peering at him. "I'm sure I could think of somewhere else to send you - wasn't there a Dalish clan near the Wending Wood?"

A call went up ahead as the sentries spotted them, and they slowed their pace as the massive doors to the Vigil ground and groaned open.

Anthony muttered something under his breath and Anders started laughing.

"Just go," she said, shifting the satchel across her chest as the gates opened. She snagged Anders' arm as they walked, "Thank you again. I couldn't have done this without you."

Sighing as he slowed to her pace through the yard, Anders said, "I still don't know, Neria. How do you know what it will do - if it will even work?"  
"I trust her writing," Neria replied, "She saved Alistair's life when he was in Weisshaupt. And I trust my own research otherwise."

"I know, I know," Anders said, and they both waved to some of the soldiers that passed. The markets had closed for the day, as they oft did in winter. "It's just that he'll kill me if anything happens to you. I've made it this whole way without being killed by a templar, can't I make it just a little bit more?"

"Trust me," she said, her voice wavering, "He won't know. Not if I can help it."

Anders muttered something under his breath as they went up the stairs into the keep. Through the doors, he paused and said, "A firm maybe. Let me read your transcription again."

Neria hugged him and kissed his cold cheek, "Thank you, Anders. Now go eat and warm. You've earned it."

Ser Pounce-a-Lot leapt down from one of the bookcases and sat down with an irritated meow.

"Yes, of course you've missed me!" preened Anders, tugging off his hat to scoop up the cat in his arms, "I am so sorry my sweetness, I cannot bear to leave you."

Neria pulled off her outer layers as Varel approached, and the little girl with him broke away, running stiffly away from the fire.

"Mamae, mamae!"

Dropping her heavy coat and bags, Neria sank to her knees to catch the toddler, smiling brightly as she kissed Fae with cold lips, "Hello sweet pea. Oh, I've missed you so much."

"It is good to see you return, Commander," Varel said with a smile as Neria picked up the girl.

"Have you been good for Varel while I was gone?" Neria asked as Fae squeezed around her neck.

Fae nodded quickly, pulling at the edges of the tabard that covered her mother's armour, "Cold."

"I know, it's very cold out! Let me get out of this," she put Fae down, and the girl fell on her pack to pull open the straps, "No no - no touch. Mage things."

The little girl's reply seemed naught much but gibberish, but both her mother and the seneschal seemed to understand, and Neria replied, "Yes, but you have to be good. Where's Alistair?"

"I believe he's in the yard with Calevar," Varel replied.

Neria grinned at Fae, taking the bag from her as the girl picked it up, "Thank you for the help. Would you take my coat?"

"Uh huh," Fae replied, nodding as she picked up the large mantle, unable to see as she walked. Neria put a hand on her shoulder to direct her as they walked.

"It still makes me uncomfortable that he's already learned so much," Neria said as she smiled at the Captain, unwinding her scarf.

"He is the right age," Varel reassured, catching Fae as she stumbled. He took the mantle from her, much to her protest. "The young adolescent he is, he must know how to fight."

"As only Fereldens know how," Neria said, grinning as she smiled down at Fae and took the girl's hand. "What about you? Have you been helping Varel?"

Fae nodded, a mish of words together as she tugged on Neria's hand and hurried with them. Something about smell and boys.

"Ohh," Neria knowingly said, before asking, "Oghren?"

Nodding, Fae pulled away and flexed her hands at Varel, "Up, up."

Varel knelt down to gather her up, tucking his arm under so she could lean on his shoulder and promptly put a thumb in her mouth.

"She hasn't been too much trouble, I hope?"

"Of course not, Commander," Varel replied, hesitating as he drew breath to say, "But I worry I cannot devote enough time to hers and Calevar's education and needs."

"Hmm," she quietly mused. "Most other children... are in the fields, yes?"

"Or working in some other manner with their families, yes," Varel said as they hesitated by the door. "Nobles often hire a tutor for their children. As I have mentioned before."

Neria's cheeks lightly coloured and she glanced down as she dubiously said, "Yes, of course. Nathaniel said something to that effect too."

"The Howe children had a number of individuals that saw to their needs," Varel said. When Fae struggled to reach for Neria at the door, he said, "It is too cold, little miss. How about you show me your dance again?"

The training quarters were never warm in the winter - they were simply too large. Neria crossed her arms as she walked in, tilting her head as she watched the pair. They hadn't noticed her yet. Brant pushed off the wall to walk towards her.

"Again," Alistair said, grinning. "Don't hesitate."

The young elf exhaled, breath visible in the air as he twirled the sword again. Alistair deflected Calevar's blows, stepping backward to take them before they finished the form.

"Better. But you're still not keeping your arm strong. If that got hit, you'd lose your blade or strain a muscle."

"I'm tired," Calevar said, and he did a double take to Neria, blushing sheepishly, "Madre."

"Enjoying your swordplay?" she asked.

Glancing cautiously between them, Calevar replied, "I'm getting stronger. It's fun."

"Don't worry so much," Brant interjected with a grin, "I don't think she could stop us from training you."

"What would they say if the Blight Wardens couldn't even teach their own to carry a sword," Alistair said, mopping a hand through Calevar's hair. "Again tomorrow. Try the meditations I spoke of, they will help."

"Yes, ser," Calevar said, before sheathing the sword and going to receive Neria's kiss. His head was sweaty, and his expression relaxed, "The darkspawn are dead?"

"They are," she said, resting a hand on the strap of her satchel. "Part of the entryway collapsed. Sometimes I think it's better - I wonder if I should get Dworkin to collapse the rest."

"Not sure the dwarves would be too happy with you," Alistair said, hanging his practise shield up.

"Yes, because I know you care so much about what the dwarves think," Brant said. "I'm going to find supper."

"We'll catch up," Alistair said, shaking the bottom of his shirt. He smiled and leant over Neria, kissing her cheek and lips. "I'm glad you're alright."

"I am now," she said lightly. "Come help me out of this? Go eat."

Calevar wrinkled his nose and shifted his feet, before running across the room to catch up with Brant.

"He's very quick," Alistair said, running his hand up the back of her neck as they nuzzled noses. "I think he learns more from Brant."

"Or Nathaniel. Have you heard from him?" Neria nodded towards the door, and they spoke as they walked down the hall.

"A letter came from the South Hills shortly after you left. He has another recruit, and should be in Denerim by the month's end. Makes three."

"Mm," she quietly said. In their room, Alistair stripped her of her armour and clothes. Running his hands over her poulticed ribs, she said, "An ogre."

"I remember when seeing you bandaged was business as usual," he quietly said, before kissing just beneath her breast band and drawing a shivered twitch. "I don't like it."

"That's good," she said with a grin, heating the bowl of water on her dresser. Taking the cloth, she wiped away some of the worse grime. "It's not bad. Don't worry. Anders is a good healer."

"Yes, I am sure he was marvellously attentive," Alistair half-pouted, unwinding the restrictive band.

Neria grinned and caught his stubbly cheek, "You're very cute. I missed that."

"Good," he replied, kissing her again. "Don't leave so soon. I was thinking we should go to Denerim. Meet Nathaniel half way. I'm sure the children would love it, Calevar is a lot quieter when you're gone."

"I know," she sighed, resting her forehead on his chest. Her rubbed around her shoulders with his wide, calloused hands. "Maybe take them to Amaranthine before we do. I have to go into the Blackmarsh with Anders."

Alistair furrowed his brow, "Why do you two keep running off?"

"Running off?" Neria said with a slight laugh, looking back as she gingerly pulled on a chemise, "Excuse me for going to dispatch some darkspawn. I thought that's what Wardens did."

"Then let me come with you," he said, "Or Brant. Or Sigrun."

"With Nathaniel gone, I need you all here," Neria said, throwing a crocheted shawl around her shoulders. "Someone needs to protect the Vigil. She is not yet rebuilt. And Fae needs one of us. At least until I find a tutor or nurse. Maybe you could look for one in Amaranthine?"

"I know, I know," he said with a sigh, expression clearing as he folded his arms around her. Kissing his hair, he murmured, "What's so exciting about the marsh anyway."

"You know there is talk of rebuilding the hamlet there," she said, closing her eyes and leaning into him. He was warm and smelled of sweat. "We want to make sure all traces of the demons are gone, and that the Veil is unthreatened before they do."

Alistair grumbled into her hair, and Neria smiled as he dipped to kiss her jaw.

"Let's go eat, then you can grumble all you like," she softly said.

"Alright," he pouted, "I will."

* * *

The little boy sniffled softly as he was forced to sit by the campfire. His face was puffy, and he tried to wipe the snot away with his shoulder, shivering in the cold.

"Here, eat this," Lecia said, smiling at the boy as she set her helm aside. Nearby, her fellow templars set up their camp for the night. "It will warm you right up."

"I dun wanna," he replied, shaking his head as he said, "I want to go home!"

"We are taking you home," Lecia replied, holding the cup still near his mouth. "It's your new home where you'll learn a great deal, and learn to control your magic so it never harms anyone again."

"I din't mean to hurt anyone, I swear," the boy cried, shaking his head as he tried to make himself smaller, "Tha's whats I told the constable."

"We know you didn't mean to," Lucia said, touching the boy's shoulder as Cullen glanced her way. "That is why you're going to learn, so you don't hurt anyone. Then things won't happen without you knowing about it. You'll be safer, and so will everyone else."

"Magic exist to serve man," Cullen said, adding more wood to the fire before squatting by it for warmth.

"Yes ser," the boy said, lips trembling, "I was good, I went to the chantry service whenever I could."

"Then you should know you are a mage. And you know where mages belong."

"Drink," Lucia said again, and the boy put his lips against the cup. She poured the tea and he drank it all. "Good, good. If you keep up being good, we don't need to restrain you."

The boy puckered in his lips, sucking off the flavour from them as he nodded, eyes down, "I'm so scared, ser. I've never been outside Highever."

"Then think of it as an adventure! Think of all you'll get to see on the way."

The boy's face wavered as the drink took, and he paled, slouching, "I - I don't feel right."

"We'll be here for the night. Rest. We leave before sunrise," Cullen flatly said, glancing to where Johan knelt in prayer.

"Please," the boy cried again, new tears welling in his eyes. His voice cracked as he pleaded, "I won't ever do such things again, I swear to the Maker. I want mum!"

"Go to sleep," Cullen firmly said, "And be glad you are given this opportunity."

"Come," Lucia said, and she helped the boy up into one of the tents, though his snuffled cries could be heard anyway. When she emerged, she pulled her cloak about her frigid armour.

"You are too soft, initiate," Cullen said, still knelt by the fire. His cloak concealed all but his face. "You give them too much leeway, and it will return to you one day. When the mages take advantage of your weakness."

"I - I am sorry, ser," Lucia meekly replied, though her shoulders stay firm, "I do not feel right giving magebane to children."

"Then you will grow accustomed to it. Remember always that they are the ones who brought sin upon the world - who destroyed the Golden City. Who rise in the Blight to obliterate the world we know. I should not have to remind you." Cullen looked at her as she knelt nearby, "Every mage begins as a child. They look innocent, but they harbour the key to deceit and suffering, each one a gateway to the demons beyond - each one a trap to make the rest of us suffer."

"Yes ser, I know."

"Then rest. I will wake you for second watch." Cullen rose and touched Johan's shoulder, and the man inclined his head, "And you. We will make it back to the Tower late in the day tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

"You know, it's a lot nicer this time," Anders said as he prepped camp for night in the Blackmarsh. He tore a bit of the jerky and offered Neria the rest. She seemed oblivious. "We have some time, you know."

The sun had just set and they were coming upon the eve of the spring solstice. Neria continued to carefully pour lyrium into the leylines on the ground. She had spent the better part of a day removing leaves and debris from between the cairns, and another day yet re-etching the lines in the stone laid between them. The lyrium was the final junction, and it eroded the tenuous hold the Veil had. There may not have been green fire and demons, but the presence was palpable enough.

"Are you even listening to me?" he asked.

Neria stood up, corking the bulbed flask, "What?"

"Just what I thought," Anders murmured. He tore at the jerky with an exaggerated motion and chew. "This place still makes me uncomfortable."

"I don't know," she softly said, squatting down to resume pouring the liquid in a fine line. "I find it kind of exciting. It thrills me inside."

"I might be as uncomfortable with the land as I am with what you expect us to accomplish."

Neria pressed her lips together, flexing her hand to resist wiping the droplet of lyrium as she stood again, "You've come this far, you won't back out now, will you?"

"It doesn't seem like a bright idea," he said more seriously. "How can you even trust what's in that book? I just feel like we're going to end up one of those mages in the history books, held up as an example," His voice changed octave, dropping low mockingly, "As you can see, the ritual went terribly wrong and tore an irreparable hole in the Veil, allowing the thousand years of darkness, and granting access to our demon oppressors. All hail." He moved to prostrate himself before his vision.

"It's not all her work." Neria smirked and rolled her eyes, murmuring, "And that won't happen."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's just what the Tevinter mages said," Anders drawled.

"We aren't trying to usurp heaven," she noted.

"Maybe this is how that all started though. Today a wacky pendant, tomorrow the Golden City!" Anders cackled, stopping when he saw Neria staring. "I'm just saying."

"We're already be in the history books, Anders," Neria said, "So no worry there. Now help me? Please?"

Anders harrumphed, snagging his own bottle of lyrium before moving to one of the far cairns, "The things I do for you, woman."

"Sounding like Oghren now," she said with a grin.

They worked in the dark, summoning their spellwisps to provide light as the detailed leylines between the cairn stones were filled and glowed. Anders finished first, affixing a plate in the centre and pouring the rest of the lyrium there. When Neria approached with some different vials, he sighed.

"What is it," she softly asked, hesitating on her knees.

"Are you certain you want to do this, Neria?"

The elven mage exhaled, putting the vials in her robed lap. For all her casual attitude, she was as frightened of this ritual going wrong as he was – if not more. She had studied the precise steps, and they had spent the past months gathering the required commodities and prepping them to the exact specifications. It had necessitated squirreling gold away for some time to buy the tools and have the gem prepared – and equally long to concoct and hide the lyrium from Alistair. Neria unconsciously touched the blood-filled pendant around her neck.

This was for him as much as for her. She had to remember that. It choked her throat.

"I'm sure," she softly said, before looking up to him. "I appreciate the concern though."

"People always appreciate it," Anders murmured, "But do they ever heed it?"

"Go finish eating," she said with a false smile, before settling into the succession of spells needed with each added commodity. It grew darker, and she slumped, palming the last vial – the darkspawn blood.

No going back after this, she thought. Getting up, she wandered to where Anders was, and gave him a push awake. He snorted and shook his head.

"Come on, it's almost time," she smirked. "You better not have thrown it off."

"I'll be fine," he yawned, groaning as he stood up and stretched. "Maker, I never miss sleeping on the ground. Don't you want to rest?"

"Don't think I could," Neria said, snagging the pendant from her bag before she hesitated. She pulled out a sealed letter and gave it to Anders. "Hold onto this, okay?"

Anders turned it over. The wax bore the Warden-Commander's seal. "What's this?"

"In case… something happens to me." Neria said, glancing away, "So you won't come under fire."

Furrowing his brow, Anders replied, "Look, if this can ki-"

"It's to cover my arse. I'll be fine. And if I'm not, so are you," Neria forced a smile, "Okay?"

Anders mumbled under his breath before tucking it into his robes. They both turned and looked at the prepared circle, and it was a moment before Anders said, "Last chance?"

Neria shook her head and put the gemmed pendant in his grasp. Stepping between the leylines, she knelt on a clear side of the bowl. Anders shook his head and wandered to stand opposite to her.

"Just for the record, Commander, I think you're insane," he said, pulling a knife from his belt.

"Duly noted," Neria replied, uncorking the darkspawn blood and a vial of lyrium. Glancing up to him, she said, "Ready?"  
"Yes," he exasperated.

With care, Neria began to chant, a set verse for each dip of her hand that deposited some darkspawn blood at the cardinal lines of the cairn stones. A haze of glowing light grew around them, and pouring the rest of the vial into the bowl, she relinquished it and raised her hands. Voice even and slow, the arcanum built and her eyes suffused with a sickly glow. A shimmering wall of translucent light rose around the outer edge of the site. Anders sliced the blade through his hand in conjunction with his own incantation, a call to which Neria answered.

The night waned through the darkest hour as each shifted with the needed movements to drawn on the Fade, and as the amulet took, Anders knelt to lay it within the concocted bowl. As soon as the gem touched it, the viscous fluid clouded dark, swirling to hiss when the pendant was no longer seen. Blood dripped from his hand, and the surface of the liquid caught fire, burning emerald and black.

Erstwhile, Neria remained in her place, poised and wound in the repetitive incantation that sustained the vulnerability in the Veil. Her will cycled, her eyes glowing in a haze that obscured the irises. It was only when Anders finally knelt beside her and joined his voice with hers that she clicked from the trance. Her clarity of mind drained away as her eyes focused, the fires over the bowl dimmed into a blood red mist.

Watching his lips, Neria followed into the final phrase, and when their voices silenced, the bowl cracked and the ephemeral lights around them died, leaving them in the dark. She slumped forward, and Anders caught her as the light drained from them - their presence of mind along with it.

On the ground between them, the cabochon pendant remained, its gem clouded into onyx hues. It looked wholly unremarkable.

"You're alright?" she softly asked, having to lick her lips a few times.

Anders was paled, and he nodded emptily as he looked at his hands.

Neria forced herself up, whispering soft words of healing to seal his wounds. She hesitated before snagging the pendant. It felt no different. Slipping it in her pocket, she took Anders' arm and helped him up. "Let's get you to camp."

"I knew this was a bad idea," he murmured, looking sickly. He leant heavily on Neria as they staggered out of the cairn circle. "Does it at least work?"

"I don't know," Neria said with a blush.

"Where are we going?"

"To camp," she whispered, her breath visible in the air. The humidity and cold of the marsh was penetrating. The sounds of the night were absent, and overhead a crescent moon hung low on the horizon. There were hints of deep blue in the eastern sky.

"You can see?" he croaked.

"Of course," Neria said as she coaxed him further. "Elf, remember? Better than the likes of you shemlen."

"Hah," Anders creaked, slumping as Neria let him down. He took the lyrium she pressed into his hand. "Remind me why I did this again?"

"Because of your terrible unrequited love for me," she sighed, retrieving a different vial and warming it with a quiet word. She handed it to him, "It's really quiet pathetic, but I am prone to taking advantage of it."

"Just stop," he laughed, throwing back the vial and immediately cringing, "Maker's breath, never again."

Resting her hand over the pendant in her pocket, Neria shook her head, "I owe you more then I can say."

"Damned right you do," Anders groaned, before shifting on his hands and knees to crawl into the tent, "Earned yourself the watch till dawn I think."

"You bet," Neria said, pulling her cloak closed before lighting a fire.

* * *

_The demon laughed – her laugh – and tossed its head back, pressed against the wall by Ser Allcott. The white hair tangled on the stone, flickering between the illusions, the horns, and the black-magenta fire. She – no, no it, Maker, it is not her – gasped, a calloused hand on the bare breast when Allcott tossed away his gauntlet. Its robes were torn._

_ "Please," the temptress pleaded, arching against the wall, "Please, I have wanted this for so long." The ends of her words purred into a hiss, before more of Allcott's armour fell away, and the demon's nails rose along his spine._

_ Her head turned as Ser Allcott struggled with his britches, icy eyes catching his voyeurism. The robe tore further, flickering between the greyed, lavender skin and her pure milk, all of it cast in the light of the shimmering barrier that trapped him in place._

_ Cullen sunk back on his haunches, eyes down cast. They had fought so hard. But it wasn't enough. Up through the floors, there had been some inkling of hope, but it was all falling to pieces. When he had resisted, Uldred had trapped him. Left him to watch as his fellow templars crumbled. He closed his eyes as Allcott cried out in pleasure, enraptured in the demon's grasp. _

_ "Oh Cullen, yes!" her voice cried, and in a moment of weakness his eyes stole back._

_ No longer his brother at arms, it was his very body, stripped down and pinning her against the wall. His hands on her thighs. His mouth on her skin. Hips backside clenching as he trembled and thrust._

_ Cullen shook his head and cowed forward into his hands, clasping them and closing his eyes tight. He could not block out the slap of skin and the fractured sound of her cries, mingling with the hissed purrs and sighs of the demon. Her voice, her voice soaked through it all. But he would not see, he would not give them that, he would not let them taint his mind. _

_ "Maker, Cullen, harder!"_

_ Shuddering, Cullen forced a breath out, unwilling to open his eyes as they rutted – were they even? What other images had he seen? Where were the others? He could not succumb, he must carry the Maker's light, he must remain pure. In Her Lady's word, he would find solace and the truth – he would endure._

"Maker, the fiends lure me,

A fury and tempest besets the path.

But my will prevails; I shall not surrender,

Should they set their sights upon me.

.

Maker, the hardships weaken me,

To where sorrow and despair tread.

But my hope is bright; a beacon to steel the heart,

Should others need a light to guide…."

_ - Trials 1:2-3_

* * *

Their swords met with a harsh clatter and Cullen deflected, rounding back to wipe his brow. The spring sun was warm, and when a breeze blew off the water, it was much to his relief. They had been sparring for some time in their full armour.

"Maker's bride, Cullen," the other templar panted.

"Come on, then," Cullen replied, engaging the man again. His opponent shook his head but deflected the blow, before hewing with his waster. Cullen set his jaw and absorbed the blow, before advancing with a couplet and kneeing the man backward.

The templar floundered, his long waster smacking the ground for balance as he panted. His helmeted head turned and swept at Cullen's legs, who sidestepped to smack his pommel on the man's trapezius, drawing a cry of defeat as he fell forward. There were murmurs from the few other knights watching.

"You are out of practise," Cullen panted, stalking around his prey. "Should the tower fall once more, you would be the first to die."

"You're being ridiculous, Cullen," the man said as he got up, pulling off his helmet. There was a crimson glisten up his neck. "We're sparring! This is hardly a battle for your life."

"That is no excuse, ser," he formally replied, shaking his head to take stance. "Again."

"I'm not permanently injuring myself for you," the templar replied, stiffly walking out of the ring.

"They can fight!" Cullen loudly said after them, "They have ways to use their magic in physical combat just as effectively." He looked between the remaining templars, "Another of you then? Good."

A short while later in Greagoir's office, Irving finished healing the templar's wounds, and he was relieved of duty for the afternoon. The Knight-Commander crossed his arms and sighed.

"I have received a number of grievances regarding Cullen's behaviour the past months. To see him injuring his fellow knights during sparring is… unpleasant," Greagoir said.

"While injuries during combat are routine, I do not want to dismiss the concerns raised by the apprentices regarding his behaviour either," Irving replied. There were deep wrinkles across his features, and his eyes were heavy. "He has become confrontational and often erratic. Yet you granted him full knighthood this very week."

"It is well earned," Greagoir said under his breath, "His faith to the Maker and his service to the Chantry are unquestionable. He is one of the few who remained with us after the incident."

"I have not been convinced that was for the better of the boy."

"He is no child, Irving," Greagoir said as he turned to the First Enchanter. "He has not been for many years."

"Perhaps it is my oversight to remember him as the young man he was when he arrived here," Irving sighed.

The Knight-Commander set his lips in a line and nodded as they both pondered. He finally said, "I would like to reassign him to the mage quarters. I feel he may cause less of an incident there – and be less likely to encounter any problematic behaviour that might incite him."

"Why do you not merely say abominations?" Irving scoffed and shook his head. "His stability is the very reason he should remain with the apprentices, Greagoir. There are more templars there. To not only watch them, but to keep an eye on Cullen should he worsen."

Greagoir grumbled in his own way, blinking lengthily before saying, "If he were with the full mages, he would be less prone to aggravation. They know restraint. They honour the ways of the Chantry."

"In reality, the full mages need no watchdogs," Irving bitterly said. "It certainly has seemed that you have forgotten the royal decree our own earned us after the Blight."

"The Queen and that apostate had no place interfering with Chantry affairs – you know that as much as I do, Irving," Greagoir righted himself and stood face to face with the enchanter. "Given everything that has happened, it's as much a miracle that the Circle of Magi remains here at all. By the blessed prophet, you come here most days merely to twist the blade."

"I do no such things," Irving replied. "We are able to police our own. If the Chantry would cease interfering – I have done my best to quell the dissidence amongst the senior enchanters, but it grows."

"Then it will be put down," Greagoir replied, his eyes hard. "Besides. This is not about you nor any of the other mages." He sighed and waved a hand, "Cullen will remain in the apprentice quarters. He has less than a year left until he is up for reassignment."

"At which point you will impress the need for his transfer?"

"Yes," Greagoir exasperated, "Now, I've had enough of your meddle."

Irving chuckled flatly, leaning heavily upon his staff as he left.

* * *

Alistair kissed her cheek before handing Fae off into Neria's arms. The elven mage smiled brightly and nuzzled into the girl's neck, whispering to her as Alistair showed them to her study.

"I thought you might be a little proud of me," Alistair said with a grin, "And Varel seems to approve."

Neria arched a brow as she said, "Oh? Perhaps she's alright then."

"Yes," Alistair replied dubiously, peering at her before opening the door. The olive-skinned woman turned from the fire, smoothing a hand over her travelling mantle. A simple lace net kept her dark hair back. Seeing Neria, she quickly bowed down.

"Arlessa, I had not expected to see you so soon," she hurriedly said in a delicate voice.

"Hardly," Neria said with a grin, offering her hand to the woman. When she kissed it, the elf almost laughed, "Please, I require no such formalities. Magge, yes? Please, I'm Neria."

"It is a great pleasure and honour, milady," Magge said, timidly taking her hand back.

"You seem to have impressed Alistair enough," Neria said with a grin, shouldering Fae as the girl stared at the woman. "Has he told you much of what the duties entail?"

Magge's eyes darted to Alistair as she shifted uncomfortable, "He spoke some of it."

"Well," Neria inhaled, "I would like if you stayed at the Vigil a few days so we might become better acquainted. I must tend to arling matters currently, but I wished to meet you before duty swept me away."

"Yes, mistress," Magge curtsied again.

"Have you a room for her?" Neria asked Alistair, leaning her head into Fae. The toddler hid in her mother's neck. When he nodded she added, "Feel free to roam the grounds. There are few places you won't be able to go. The kitchen's in the west wing, I'm guessing your room is there too."

"Thank you," Magge said, slowly smiling.

As Neria led them from the room, she said to Fae, "Do you like her?"

Fae hung over her shoulder as the woman was left in the hall, and she pulled the thumb from her mouth, "She scare."

"She's just nervous," Alistair said, giving the girl a few pokes to elicit a giggle and squirm. Neria tickled the other side, and Fae squealed, flailing away from them until she was upside down in her arms.

"Now you're just being silly," Neria said, biting the girl's stocking clad ankle.

"Ya," Fae laughed, hair and arms dangling down as they walked down the hall.

"I have to meet with Varel," she said to Alistair, the both of them righting the toddler between them. "Go with papa."

"Nonono," Fae squirmed between their arms, lip protruding as she reached for Neria, "Want mamae."

"Let's go find Calevar," Alistair amended, holding her easily in one arm as she threatened to cry. Neria kissed her cheek and a few tears fell before she walked away. She could hear Fae's high-pitched protest.

When Alistair found her some hours later, Neria was hunched in her study, speaking with Mistress Woolsey and Varel. The madam closed the heavy ledger as Neria nodded and signed off on a requested document. As she melted the flaxen wax and sealed the document, the madam administrator snagged it. The pair greeted Alistair as they left. The elven mage sunk back into her chair, closing her eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me about the uprising?" she softly asked.

"I thought you'd find out about it soon enough," Alistair replied, leaning over the back of her chair to drape his arms around her shoulders.

Neria touched his hand, tilting her head to kiss his forearm, "I don't think I can ever do enough. Food is tight, and there is very little that can be done until the winter grains mature."

Alistair lay his lips in her hair, inhaling deeply before pulling his fingers back through the pale tresses, "You do the best you can."

"It's never enough," she quietly said, closing her eyes again. Neria sighed and leaned forward, fingering through the missives on her desk. "And I received a rather lengthy letter from Romel."

"He's the queen's Circle advisor now, right?"

Neria nodded, leaning her head in her hand as she looked at him, "He wants me to petition on the Circle's behalf at the Landsmeet this summer. Apparently the independence Anora promised has been…" She sighed, "Well it was all talk. I need to meet with him when we go to the city."

"Seems reasonable," Alistair replied.

"Where's Fae?"

"Sleeping," he said, "She was helping move bricks in the garden. Not that any needed moving... Magge spent some time with us too."

Neria couldn't help but grin a little, "She wasn't much trouble?"

"No more than usual." Alistair smirked, "She was taking to Magge more, at least. She's very good. Teaches as much as encouraging play." He coaxed Neria out of her chair, "I've missed you."

Neria sighed and closed her eyes, folded into his arms as she murmured, "I've missed you too. The way you smell and feel. How you can improve my mood so much by just this…"

"I know," he replied.

"With spring on the way, we should be able to leave for Denerim in a fortnight. If Magge is suitable, she will join us so Fae can grow more accustomed to her."

Alistair nodded, already distracted as he let his hands roam and consume her knowingly.

"And then," Neria drew a breath and tilted her lips up into his neck, "You'll come with me to the Circle to find a recruit? Fae and Calevar will have to stay here, of course. Just be us on the north highway again."

A rumbled reply was in Alistair's throat, as he slowly smiled, "What, you don't want to surprise the Knight-Commander with children? Oh these? I'm holding them for someone. And won't Wynne want to see them?"

Neria giggled softly, nipping his skin as she said, "Are you so averse to us spending an extended amount of time alone?"

"Well," Alistair dramatically sighed, shivering into her lips as he murmured, "I didn't want to say anything."

"Shush and kiss me already," Neria lightly laughed, poking his abdomen.

"Yes, ser, Warden-Commander ser," Alistair replied, grinning into her lips.


	3. Chapter 3

It was their last night in the Vigil before going to Denerim. Alistair stood by the window, running the damp cloth over his face and body, watching the rain melt down the windows, "You know, the seasons seem to change so much more quickly near the coast."

"I know," Neria replied, pulling on her nightgown. Ensuring he was distracted, she pulled the pendant from her robes. She slipped it into the hidden pocket she'd sewn into the nightgown. "Sometimes I'm surprised how much it still can enthrall me. Or how messy it is. Fae... oh Fae..." She glanced to where the girl knelt in her cradle. "She is getting too big for her crib."

"We need to have a trundle bed made for her," Alistair said as he turned to her. Fae reached for him, whimpering in a demanding way. Down to his smalls, he picked her up. The elven babe lay her head on his shoulder, thumb in her mouth as he rubbed up her back.

"You spoil her," Neria said, watching them as she set the fire, "Will she still sleep with us? I had thought she might be in a room with Magge when we return."

Fae started to protest at the words, and in a second started to cry. Alistair hushed her as Neria came close, and with some persuasive snuggles and dancing, they were finally able to calm her down. The sun was gone as Neria laid her in the cradle and drew the shades.

Alistair snagged her hips, pulling Neria back to sit on his lap on the bed, and she turned to him with a smile as he said, "It'll be good to get out. Unlike you, I've been cooped up here most of the winter."

"You went to Amaranthine a few times," Neria said, eyes half-lidded as his hands roamed her curves, bunching the nightgown.

"Yes, but usually without you," Alistair smirked and pulled her back into the bed. Leaning over her, he pinned her arms down and started nipping over her breasts and neck. "Oghren isn't the best company, you know."

Neria tensed and bit her lip before saying, "What about Anthony? Or Sigrun? And don't you usually drag Brant with you."

"They gang up on me," Alistair said with a pout as he rest his chin on her breast, "Evil people, they are."

"Yes, because you are so righteous and pure," Neria lightly laughed.

Alistair grinned as he nuzzled into her cheek, pulling the covers over them and wrapping her in his arms, "Not so much, I suppose. You've done a rather good job of that, mm?"

"You love me for it though," Neria replied, sinking back into his warmth.

"I do," he whispered, lips resting on the top of her head. "Very much so."

The fire had died below a glow when Neria woke in the night, a cold sweat on her brow. She pulled to the edge of the bed, reaching for water as she sat up. The vivid blurs of the dream were already fading, though her heart still beat with the remaining fright. Though she could not place the details, the sense it left in her stomach was not unfamiliar.

It had been more than a year since she had woken from such a nightmare. Almost two.

Neria turned her head at some distant sound. She couldn't place it - was it deeper in the castle? She looked to the crib where Fae lay, thumb firmly in her mouth and dark hair in disarray. The shimmer of faint sound swelled, and she looked at Alistair. He was equally oblivious, lying on his side, mouth open in deep, long breaths. She smiled a little.

Reaching for her dressing gown, Neria hugged the heavy garment closed and slipped quietly from the bed. She wandered to the door and opened it to the hall. The usual sounds of the keep were there in the distance, murmured sounds that echoed off the stone, but beyond it all was something else.

"Neria?"

Turning from the door, Neria tucked her pale hair back over her ear and looked back to the bed.

"Are you alright?" Alistair groggily asked, pushing himself up and wetting his lips.

Hesitating a moment, Neria felt her cheeks flush in the dark, and she quietly asked, "Do... do you hear that? I don't know what it is?"

Eyes still mostly closed, Alistair turned his head, ear towards the door. Hanging more heavily, it was almost a minute before he murmured, "No?"

Chewing her lip in, Neria smiled and came closer to the bed, "Must be nothing."

"Elven ears," he mumbled, reaching up her waist as she slunk back into the bed. He sleepily kissed her cheek, arm draped over her body as they lay down.

Neria stared into the dark, listening to what wasn't there, hearing Alistair's breath slip deeper into a peaceful rise and fall. She closed her eyes, listening still. Satisfied at the relative silence, she rolled under Alistair's arm, rousing a content sound from him when she kissed his chin and went back to sleep.

* * *

Cullen stood and watched. In many respects, that was the core of his service to the Maker. To guard those purported to be granted His gift from themselves and keep their arts from the world. The young man had been prone in the chamber for a number of hours now. Where the others shifted and moved to keep the feeling in their legs, he stood and watched for any sign. It was Lucia's job to strike the blow should the mage fail within the Fade, but Cullen did not entirely trust she would act without hesitation.

She was soft. Though devout, she was overly kind to the apprentices in the lower levels of the Tower. She checked upon the child they had brought to ease his fears. She was weak.

"The time?" Greagoir said from where he stood, arms crossed.

It was his responsibility to count the hours. There were no windows in the Harrowing chamber, making it nearly impossible to track how long each apprentice remained in the Fade. It was a tedious task to meter the time. It was the first Harrowing he had been asked to proxy since... since...

The Knight-Commander said more loudly, "Cullen - the time?"

"Almost three hours, ser," Cullen replied, still watching the mage with his hand upon the hilt of his sword. "He has yet to wake."

"I am aware of that," Greagoir said, looking to Cullen. He flatly added, "Thank you."

Cullen pressed his lips into a line. They were waiting too long. The seconds ticked by in his thoughts, and he gathered the minutes as he watched.

Nearby Irving shifted, sighing as he paced towards the opposite side of the chamber, "He still has time."

"It may already be too late," Cullen said under his breath, prompting the First Enchanter to turn.

"The boy will have his chance. As we all do. He is bright and will overcome the demon with little affair."

"Then he should already have returned from this farce," Cullen said more fully.

"Stand down," Greagoir said, otherwise unmoved by their exchange. Cullen simmered and they all settled back into silence.

The minutes ticked on. Cullen watched and waited.

"Ser," Lucia said, taking a few paces closer to the young man on the ground. A deeper shudder of breath roused his chest, and his head rolled. Cullen tightened his fingers on his blade as Lucia said, "He seems fine."

Irving and Greagoir exchanged glances before checking on the boy.

"He has survived," Irving said, relief on his aged features.

Greagoir nodded and motioned to Cullen and Lucia, "Good. Return him to the apprentice quarters. We will secure the chamber."

Together Cullen and Lucia picked up the mage, carrying him out of the Harrowing chamber. The lamps were lit - he estimated it was close to midnight. They walked in silence down through the tower, supporting the young man's arms.

"Thank you for your aide, brother," Lucia said without affair. Finally in the apprentice quarters, they ignored those that woke as they took the mage to his bed.

"It could have easily been done by one of us," Cullen said as they walked back into the hall. "Unless you are unable to support such a weight."

Lucia turned her head, helm concealing her features, as she said, "No, it would have been easy enough, you're right. We may still make it to the late service."

Entering the chantry, Cullen hesitated. He often removed himself from the public services and benedictions, but when his fellow knight touched his arm, they sank into one of the pews by the door. The evening service was nearly finished. There was a modicum of approval inside him as Lucia clasped her hands and bowed her head - a position reflected by each of the templars within the room. With a silent sigh, he followed suite.

"Across the Veil laid the temptation of flesh,

Where ignorant children revelled in life.

And so the demons traversed the unknown spaces,

Wanton for passage beyond.

.

Where the Veil grew thin the warped spirits drew,

Moths to intangible flames,

Replicating life that was not life,

Living in imitation of that they were denied."

_Erudition 2:2-3_

The initiate leading the prayer looked over them from her recitation and lifted a hand above the knights in blessing, "Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

"Maker protect and guide my hand," the templars replied in unison.

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadows," she said, nodding.

"In my blood, let it be written," Cullen said along with his brethren, feeling some of the weight within loose. As it always did, the Chant set him free. If only for a time.

* * *

Romel walked alongside Neria through the castle courtyard. The sun was high on the spring day - one of the warmest yet.

"I'm glad you were able to make it," Romel said with a quick grin. They moved to sit in the full sun. "Isn't this something else? You get used to being cooped up."

"I know," Neria said with a grin, "I haven't been in the Tower in years, but still... being outside, I feel like I'm doing something bad."

"You would," he replied with a smirk, crossing his legs as he leaned back. "You don't look like you get out much. Are you feeling well? You look much more pale than I remember - even in the Tower."

Neria smiled falsely, "I am. But there is more rain in the north, I am inside often."

"Good thing you're here then," Romel said, smiling thinly before he sighed. He looked at his hands. "I've not been able to hear much from the Tower. When I first came here at the Queen's request, communication was open like it never had been. I think the templars were mostly in shock. But they've been bringing in children – and enforcing the Harrowings."

Sighing, Neria looked away through the garden, "Where else should the children go? Do you think the commoners will accept them?"

Romel furrowed his brow and turned to her, "You may not, but I remember being taken from my clan, Neria. They didn't want to let me go. They weren't afraid of me."

"Many people are, though," Neria said, looking back to him with cool eyes. "And I have seen myself the difficulties trying to raise children who show signs can have."

The man turned his head, peering at her, "I had heard rumours you had children, but I never would have thought –"

"No, not the ones we've adopted," Neria said with a blush, "Please, keep it hushed. I know the arling knows for certain, but I have some authority there. It was during the Blight - and dozens of people died because the boy made a pact with a demon."

"I thought if anyone, you would at least listen," Romel said, standing up as his voice grew heated, "You have more influence in Ferelden than any mage or elf has had in centuries. You can help."

Neria looked in her lap, fiddling with the adornments on her robes, "What do you expect me to do, Romel? Anora will not see me outside of an official capacity. She doesn't even know I'm here."

Sighing Romel said, "You still have influence."

"The Blight is fading from people's minds," Neria murmured. "They are alive, most of the lands have recovered, and all they hear is an elven mage is still arlessa. Their murmurs don't escape me. But I can't take on the Chantry. Nevermind the fact I think that… well… mages need to be trained."

"Then I guess you haven't seen Jowan," Romel said, crossing his arms and looking down at her.

"I am planning to go to the Circle to recruit soon," Neria said, rubbing her forehead, "So I will see him, I suppose."

"I thought someone would have told you. He's been tranquil for almost a year now."

"What?" Neria quietly said, looking up as her mouth dropped open.

"That's what the templars do to threats. Or they kill them," Romel flatly said. "They kept him around with us to rout the darkspawn after the Blight, but when he returned to resume studies…" The elf shrugged, "I don't know the details."

"Why did you keep this from me?" she quietly asked.

"Keep it from you?" he asked, "You could have found out on your own."

"I have so many duties, I can't spend all my time checking in on people," Neria defensively said, before dropping her voice, "I have children to look after, never mind the arling and the Wardens."

"Too busy living your life freely while the rest of our kin remain prisoners. To gallivant with that shemlen."

"And what of you? Is your life so terrible here?"

"I may have more free reign, but I am still a pet on a leash," Romel sneered.

"Because my life is so different," Neria stood up, stopping before she said, "I can't do everything. My life has not been easy."

"Of course not," Romel's eyes turned away, before coldly saying, "I suppose I thought after all this time you might have changed. That you wouldn't want our brethren brainwashed any longer. But you're still one of Irving and Greagoir's puppets."

Neria made a sound, taken aback. She shook her head.

"It was kind of you to visit, Warden-Commander. Perhaps you should return to the compound before the Queen learns of your presence."

Neria turned on her heel, soon enough finding her way through the gate and back into the streets of Denerim. She wrapped a violet scarf around her head and neck to conceal her features, and it was an hour or two before she was back at the Warden compound in the markets. She ran into Calevar in the common room, and he looked up from his studies.

"Madre, are you alright?"

Stopping, Neria sat down beside him and her expression smoothed into a closed-lip grin, "I will be."

"Can we still go into the market? I have the coin Varel gave me for books."

Neria closed her eyes, leaning to kiss his head and ruffle his hair, "Where's Alistair?"

Calevar tugged a ribbon down the page to mark his place, "Napping with Fae. You promised we would – we've been here a week."

"No we haven't," She smirked before saying with a tired grin, "Let's just us go. I know the place."

The streets were cold and wet with spring, and the afternoon shadows lengthened across the street. It smelled. But spring was never a clean and tidy time, in the arling, city or anywhere else. Neria kept her scarf up to cover her hair, even if the sun was warm. She held the door for Calevar and they both slipped into the Wonders of Thedas.

It was considerably quieter inside, and the air was permeated with the aged smell of dust, parchment, and lyrium. Neria grinned as Calevar looked up to her.

"Look all you want. Tell me if you find things you'd like, I'll be here."

Neria met with the tranquil mage at the shop counter, "Any new books received from overseas?"

"Greetings," the man replied, his face a sheet as he retrieved the ledger, "A number of volumes regarding elements and herbalism were received in the past month..."

They spoke for a while, and it was only as the tranquil gathered the books Neria indicated, that the elven mage realized Calevar sat by the raised bookshelves at the back of the shop. He was staring at them.

"Excuse me - yes, those too please," Neria walked up the short stairs to him, and the boy furrowed his brow. "What is it?"

"What is wrong with him? Why does he sound like that?" he spoke politely under his breath.

Neria regarded the shop owner, before flipping through the book Calevar had open, "He is tranquil. This looks good - where did you find it?"

"There," Calevar pointed without looking, eyes upon Neria, "What is a tranquil? Is he a mage?"

"He is," Neria said, tracing her finger over the filigree on the spine, "But he... cannot connect to the Fade to make use of magic. He is severed from it."

"But why? What is wrong with him? He is ... I don't like him."

"Well," Neria said with an intake of breath. There was only one other person in the shop. "Some mages may be at too high of risk for succumbing to a demon - do you remember what I told you of my apprenticeship?" When Calevar nodded, she continued, "Some are either given the choice, or... or forcibly made to take another path. When they are severed from the Fade, not only do they no longer dream... but they become void of all emotion too. Through it they are no longer at risk of demonic possession... at least that is what they say."

"They don't feel?"

"I'm not certain. They do not have any passion, they are very good at concentrating - they often do most of the Circle's enchanting." Neria looked down again, and she forced a smile for Calevar, "But they are alive. They will not be slain by templars."

"Did Alistair... ever kill anyone?"

"He is not a templar, he did not hunt mages," Neria reassured, expression clearing more.

"Would they have done that to you, Madre?"

"No," Neria swallowed the truth, urging him up from the chair and gathering his books. "Of course not."

"Why are people so frightened of mages?" Calevar asked as they went down the steps.

Neria pursed her lips into silence and paid for their purchases, and Calevar took up the crate and followed her out of the shop as she said, "We are an unknown. We can do a lot of things that no one else can. And there is the history with Tevinter - have you been doing your studies?"

"Yes, Madre," Calevar murmured, and they walked through the market, "It seems like mages could help people so much. You and Anders help Amarathine. You heal people. Don't they want healers?"

"Magic exists to serve man -"

"And never to rule over them," Calevar finished, rolling his eyes when she grinned at him.

"That is just it. Fear is a great motivator. For all the good mages can or will do, there is the fear just as much of our unpredictability. That we will harm, or kill, or cause something terrible to happen once more - thus the Chantry aims to control us. To ease fears."

"But normal people do all those things just as much, Madre," Calevar said as they approached the Warden Compound. "If not more. They have more opportunity to."

"Careful of the things you say, dear," Neria laughed a little as they went back inside, "If the wrong people heard you say that, who knows what they'd do."


	4. Chapter 4

"Think Nathaniel will arrive soon?"

"I don't know," Alistair said, running his fingers through Neria's hair. She chided his hands away and he merely smiled. "I don't mind being here so much. Shaw is good company. He's looked after the place well."

"He enjoys his solitude just as much," Neria said, grinning at the thought of the Warden she'd assigned to mind the compound. "Did you see his face when we retired from the common room?"

"Yes," Alistair laughed, kissing over her cheek. He pulled open the belt on her robes. "Magge is with Fae and Calevar - though I think he can look after his own well enough."

"I know," Neria said, closing her eyes into his kisses. She ran her hands over his chest, idly tugging at the shirt, "Do you think the Warden presence in Ferelden is strong enough?"

Walking Neria closer to the bed, Alistair murmured against her skin, "We're doing our best to recruit. I suppose we could always do more - not like people worry about a coming Blight."

"Though another will come," she said, and the seriousness fled her features as Alistair knocked her back onto the bed.

"Maker willing, not in our lifetime," Alistair said as he crawled over her. Neria tugged the bottom of his shirt up, forcing him to kneel over her to get it off. "Ahhh always trying to talk business when I mean business."

Neria lightly laughed, "I'm sorry, just idle thoughts. Your opinion means a lot to me."

"As it should," Alistair replied, grinning and tugging open the neckline of her robe, "I think you are thinking too much right now. Much better things to be doing with our time."

"I see," she grinned and squirmed a bit as he tickled her. His eyes lit with mischief, and she rolled on the bed. He snagged her to pull back, tugging her robes more fully off. The dark onyx pendant fell from her breast band.

"And what is this lovely thing," he said and lay sideways atop her, effectively pinning her to the bed. She could scarce squirm, and she laughed as he added, "From some admirer? Mmm... no... did you get it in the city? It feels odd."

Neria blushed, face down on the bed as she laughed nonchalantly, "Of course it does, it's enchanted."

"Hmm."

"You think I'd wear just any jewellery? Just because?"

"There's my ring," he said with a grin, glancing at her as he ran his hand up her thigh.

"Not just any jewellery," she grinned as he let her move. She took the pendant from him and leaned up into his lips, slipping it under her pillow as his eyes closed into their kiss. She pulled him closer by the waist of his pants and he made a sound of approval in her lips.

"So demanding as of late," he said in a breath as she pushed him on his back.

"What happened to the famed Warden endurance and stamina?" Neria said with a sparkle in her eyes. Alistair trembled beneath her as she straddled his thighs and ground herself up into his loins. "Rather be sparring me?"

"I think," he coughed, trying not to smile, "I might be content with our brand of sparring."

Neria laughed and turned to pull off his breeches, squeaking as Alistair snagged her leg and tickled her foot. She nearly fell off the bed, only to have him haul her back up into his lap. Grinding together, their kisses grew more heated, and the last bits of clothing between them were shed.

* * *

Neria woke in the night trembling from the dream, her blurry eyes coming into focus as she felt Alistair's words on the back of her neck.

"Love," he whispered, running his hand over her arm and hip, "My love, are you alright?"

Blinking slowly, the lurid brutality of the Fade - as it even the Fade? It seemed far too familiar - began to ebb away. The sounds of their teeth, the garish shine of blood and flesh, ripping and rutting. But there was something beautiful through it all. Heart racing, Neria cleared her throat and said, "I - I, yes. Just... dreams, you know?"

Alistair dragged his fingers over her back and buttocks, a soothing caress as he breathed in against her neck, "What about?"

A knot tightened in Neria's throat as she looked across the dark room. It was a moment before she forced herself to say, "I don't remember. It - it was terrible. But it wasn't real - it's getting better." She took his hand as he linked it around her waist. "You're here."

"Promised I would," he murmured.

Neria exhaled deeply, sinking back against his muscles and warmth. Alistair made a pleased sound and squeezed her closer.

"Love you," he murmured, already drifting back to sleep.

"Love you too," she whispered, bringing his hand to her lips. Kissing it, she said, "I'm going to go check on Fae."

"Be back soon," he said into the pillow, his arm left across the bed in her wake. "Remember, I have a surprise in the morning."

"I'll remember," she whispered, almost able to smile at the thought. She wrapped herself in a dressing gown and left the small room. She tiptoed into the dorms where Shaw, the recruits, and Magge were sleeping with Fae and Calevar. She leaned against the bunk to look down on the little girl, her face vacant in sleep. The bed seemed so big compared to her.

Satisfied, she wandered to the kitchen, still trembling from the remnants of her dream. However unclear the visions had been, the sound of the song was always there. It could not be described, the way it sung and seemed to shiver through her veins. If only she could remember it. Filling a bowl with water from a barrel, she warmed it, and dipped her hands in to splash it over her face.

Hands over her eyes, Neria sighed, the water dripping down into the bowl. Running her hands around her neck, the water cooled in the air and brought with it some relief. Her fingers stopped their advance into her hair as she felt something odd. Running her fingers over the irregular skin, she stiffened. It was almost scaly, and felt colder than anything other part of her. She could not feel herself touching it right.

The deep creak of the compound's outer door distracted her, and she dropped her dripping hand to walk down the hall to it, summoning a magelight. There were two men in the doorway.

"Who goes there?" she said in her Commander's voice.

"Neria," the man turned, and Nathaniel's smile met her, "What are you doing here?"

"Coming to meet you, of course," she said, relaxing and meeting his hug. "It's been too long. And who is this?"

"Rinc, from Gwaren. I present to you the Warden-Commander Neria Surana."

The man beside Nathaniel had dark hair and a full beard, and he offered a firm handshake to Neria, "It's an honour, milady."

"Yes, and look at me, all presentable and the like," Neria said as she took her hand back and hugged her robe closer. "You both must be starving, come in and warm yourselves."

* * *

_They were dead. They were all dead. He could smell their bodies. But the fiends still played and toyed. Not with the bodies – but with him. He would not grant them the satisfaction of his attention. He would not give notice to the sounds they made, the gasps as they played and touched and plied, inhabiting the bodies of once mages. They fashioned their glamour to her likeness._

_ "Oh Cullen, could you reach the book for me? Thank you so much, Cullen," one pleaded in her lilting voice. _

_ "Thank you for not killing me, Cullen," another said. Was it another? Their voices melded together, the only difference their location. They were everywhere._

_ "Touch me. Yes - yes, ohh yes, feel me. It is like nothing imaginable."_

_ "I will be strong," he prayed under his breath, hands clasped. His body ached from the position. He had begun to lose track of time - whether from their playful torture or the dry mania of want in his throat._

_ "Fuck me, Cullen. Harder, Maker please, Harder!" _

_ Lyrium. Maker, he should not want even this. But his blood screamed for it. He would cry had he the tears left, but they had already fled. Lyrium. In it His voice and His calm. If only a sip, he would have the strength to defeat these abominations._

_ His hands trembled. They were dead and he had done nothing. He began to sway with the meter of the Chant on his lips, and the motion gave him some semblance of calm. This was the control he had. This was his will. This inch. They could not take that from him like they had taken so much else. _

_ "What's your name, I have not seen you before? I'm Neria."_

_ Laughter, her sweet perverse laughter. Laughter he could taste on his tongue, like the numbness his daily draught once brought. Holy Maker, grant me clarity. Think of each breath – each breath of life granted by the Maker, taken in service to His will. _

_ "Perhaps you'd rather show me? It is late, I'm certain we could find somewhere private."_

_ He would not move, he would be resolute. A light when all others had gone out. He would remember her face the day she betrayed them all. The day she aided the blood mage. The day she left the Tower and was granted rights as a free-walking apostate, condemned by the Maker. He too would condemn her. There were soft pleasured gasps again – sounds that permeated his real cage as much as his self-made one. _

_ "No more," he whimpered, shuddering as his fingers crushed together, clasped in prayer, "Leave me be, demons. You will not break me."_

_ "But Cullen," the whisper seemed close. Could he feel her breath? Lips so close, honeyed whispers. The smell of ice, of lightning, of rain. Fresh, pure, and unattainable. She was all of them. Was she? "You break yourself for me."_

_ Cullen's breath huffed out, weakening to the ground more. His limbs were stiff. They would not move. He could barely feel them, and his hands shook, his lips tingled with want. _

.

_"When sins rise to seek my soul,_

_ When I have laid myself bare,_

_ I will look to Him,_

_ Save me, O Maker!_

.

_When I am subjugated_

_ When my adversaries surmount,_

_ I will pray to Him_

_ Hear me, O Maker!_

.

_And I will know peace in my heart,_

_ As I have known Your light in absence,_

_ When the chafe blows_

_ And I am left with the grain."_

_- Trials 2:4-7_

* * *

"I know you don't like Fort Drakon," Alistair said as they neared the gates, "But it was the only place in the city to go."

Neria peered at him, trying to smile at the foreboding walls, "Go for what?"

"You'll see," Alistair said, hoisting Fae higher in his arms. The girl had her thumb in her mouth, finger curled over her nose, and was leaning on his shoulder to look around.

Guards met them at the door. Calevar crossed his arms and looked up sternly at the man when he blocked their entrance.

"I'm here to speak with Lieutenant Cenhelm."

"Is - is that the Hero?"

Neria blushed a little, her eyes drifting, "I don't know, is it a good or a bad thing you recognize me."

"It's an honour, milady," the man said, saluting her as he opened the door, "Wouldn't impede yeh any longer. Do you know the way?"

"Yes," Alistair said, grinning, "Thank you." Once inside, they walked the passages with ease, though a number of the guards on patrol took more than a second glance. "See? Your popularity still has some uses."

"I suppose," she replied, taking Calevar's hand to keep him close. She looked down and followed Alistair through the familiar halls.

"What do they do here, Madre?"

"The city guard trains here," she quietly said, looking at him and forcing a neutral expression. "They also take many of the city's criminals and traitors here for... interrogation."

"How do you know where we're going?" Calevar said to Alistair.

"We've been here before," he replied.

"When?" the boy asked.

"A long time ago," Neria hurriedly said, squeezing his hand. "Before I came to the Vigil."

"Why were you here?"

"It doesn't matter, _chiacherre_," Neria smiled at him, and the boy's expression softened at the word.

Alistair looked at Neria with a certain concern, before they stopped, almost running into a guard as he exited the room, "Lieutenant, we met the other day."

"Ah! Yes, ser, Lieutenant Cenhelm," the man smiled, his eyes bright and his auburn hair cut short. "A pleasure again. And you milady, it is an honour. The General herself - my predecessor spoke very highly of you."

Neria glanced at Alistair before shaking Cenhelm's hand, "Thank you, that's very kind of you."

"A pity what happened to your warhound - but I'm glad as any to help you choose another. I hope one of my pups takes to you, to say that the General is training one of my mabari!"

"What?" Neria let go of Calevar's hand as she looked to Alistair, and the man cringed.

"She didn't know," Alistair said with a sheepish grin.

"Well she knows now," Cenhelm laughed and beckoned them back into the kennels.

"You brought me here to.. to..."

"To find a mabari," Alistair said with a grin, and Fae tightened around his neck as they came into the throng of massive dogs. "It won't be a Grey Warden like Ualan but... but I just though..."

Neria touched Alistair's shoulder, leaning to kiss his cheek. Calevar stood and gawked at the dogs. The room was iron cages and training dummies for the dogs, and the lieutenant motioned to her.

"Here, we'll go see the mothers," the kennel master said, "There's some young pups I've been training for imprinting."

Cenhelm whistled and commanded the dogs as they entered the ancillary room, and two full-sized mabari lifted their heads. One merely laid back down to nurse her pups while the second herded the half-grown dogs at his command. They responded well to instruction, and the kennel master smiled as he turned to Neria.

"Ebba here is one of my best," Cenhelm said, giving the large dog a rough pat on the hindquarters. The dog looked pleased, and turned her gaze on Neria. "She knows we raise her pups to be the crown's best."

Neria slowly smiled, and the dog approached her, easily coming as high as her waist. Putting out her hand, the dog smelt it, and Ebba's ears went back, a low growl in her throat.

"'ey now, Ebba," Cenhelm said, whistling sharply to draw her attention, "That there's the Hero of Ferelden - saved us all from the Blight, she did. She is my friend and yours, missy."

The dog looked back at her pups as they sat attentively, their paws large and muzzles seeming almost comical. She huffed a sound, sniffing at Neria again before circling back to stand before them, dark eyes upon the elf. Two of the pups clamoured at their mother's hide, chewing and clawing on her hind leg, prompting Ebba to snap back at them.

One pup stood resolute, its coat black and brown, intelligent eyes upon Neria. It was a little larger than the rest. The elven mage crossed her arms a bit defensively as Ebba growled again, knocking away the rowdy pups with her head.

"You remember the Blight," Cenhelm said to the dog, his voice stern, "You fought there, just like her. What is it, girl?"

Neria walked sideways, squatting down as she looked at the pups. She put out her hand, "What am I supposed to do? Ualan... my last hound... found me during the war."

"Usually they're not so protective, she must smell something odd. Stop that, Ebba."

The quiet pup stepped forward to sniff her hands, ears askew as it ignored the little yelp Ebba give.

"That one's mum died giving birth, poor dear. He was the only one I could save. Ebba took him in. She's always done that."

The pup nipped at Neria's hand, mouthing her fingers and prompting her to pull back. Sniffing her again, he sat down and made a dubious little growl, regarding her.

* * *

"Fen'in," Calevar said, watching the dog sit beside him. The young mabari watched him with the same derision. "I don't know."

"Well I do," Neria smirked, laying Fae back on the table. She whispered something to the girl and elicited a laugh as she leant to nibble at her belly. Wetting the cloth, she quickly changed the babe, wiping her clean and tucking a new wrap of milkweed and moss into the smalls. "Go gather your things. We need to be on the road soon."

Nathaniel entered with two of the recruits that were following them back to the Vigil, putting the crate down by the door as he smiled and leant over Fae. "And how is miss Fae doing?"

Fae reached up and tugged on his beard as Neria laced her gown back up, "Gah."

"Mph, thank you miss." Nathaniel said, "Reminding me why I always kept shaved. Did you miss me?"

Putting her thumb in her mouth, Fae looked to Neria, who gave her head a little shake. Looking back at Nathaniel, Fae shook her head and went, "No."

"No?" Nathaniel laughed, putting a hand over his heart, "Oh Fae, you strike me in the heart?" He stumbled a bit, gripping the side of the table as he feigned injury, and she laughed, turning towards him and away from Neria's hands. "Come here."

Nathaniel picked Fae up around the waist, and she squirmed and laughed, hanging half upside down as he followed the recruits out to the cart. Alone in the common room, Neria closed her eyes and leant more heavily on the table. There was a distant itch under her skin, and she had to resist twitching. She could feel Alistair, Shaw and Nathaniel nearby, a discordant presence alongside the nauseous crawl. She put a hand over her pocket, feeling the cold gem there. She scarce heard Fen'in whimper slightly at her side.

"Neria?"

Looking up, Neria tried to lighten her expression, "All ready to go?"

Alistair nodded, his hand around her waist as he leant to kiss her cheek, "Calevar is just helping load some of the supplies in the cart. Are you alright?"

"You know me," she said with a weak grin, "Rather walk a thousand miles than get in a carriage."

"Can you imagine walking there with Fae though?" Alistair said with a grin, massaging the back of her neck. "Calevar, he'd tough it out, I know. Wouldn't dare let us see if he were tired."

"You could always carry her," Neria said with a weak grin, "I could put her to sleep."

"Gee, thanks," he murmured, kissing her before snagging her pack. "I've got the breads. We should get going."

"I'll be right there," she said, closing her eyes with a sigh before gathering the last of her books.


	5. Chapter 5

Neria scratched down her neck, closing her eyes to drink the glass of water. The itch was becoming more difficult to ignore, a hum just below the surface. It was like someone whispering at a party, and you hear your name - but can do nothing to escape the conversation you're in. They are speaking about you, but you cannot hear. Putting the empty cup down, she hastily braided bits of her hair to keep the white tresses from her face. The strands were becoming increasingly annoying. Stretching in her armour, she stalked back into the ring where Brant waited.

"Was wondering if you were coming back," the man said with a grin, "Not often you bow out so quickly."

"Bow out? Or do you mean let you off the hook?" Neria said as she summoned her defensive auras. Calevar grinned from the railing where he sat beside Anders and the new Wardens. Two had survived the Joining the night before. The boy knew enough not to question where the third had gone.

"Big words for such a tiny elf," Brant replied, readying his dagger and sword.

They engaged in a spar for a time, the spring breeze blowing through the outdoor ring. The sun was warm overhead, the sky mottled with a few scant clouds. The sound of their swords glancing echoed off the stone. They worked to tire each other out, and Neria was sweating under her helm when Alistair appeared by the steps. Fae was at his side dragging a satchel along the ground.

Brant took a cheap shot, laughing as Neria floundered in her distraction, "I don't know how you two made it through the Blight."

With a flick of her wrist and a quiet word, Neria froze Brant's leg and arm to the ground, leaving him struggling as she walked to Alistair. Sheathing her sword, she thanked Fae and took up the satchel.

"Your courier arrived this morning," Alistair said, eyes sparkling as he heard Brant curse. "I do like seeing him that way."

"Oh?" Neria said with a grin, turning she moved again, and a grease slick spread under Brant's feet as the ice chipped away, and he promptly face planted in the oil. "Just for you."

Alistair joined the other Wardens laughing, and snagged Fae before she could run to Brant. He threw the girl over his shoulder, "Always thinking of me."

"Indeed," Neria replied, flicking through the scrolls, identifying the seals as she went.

"How come you never let me do that?" Anders said, leaning on a barrel of sawdust as he peered at Neria.

"Because you'd set it on fire," she murmured, cracking the wax on a letter.

"But that's the fun part!"

"Hmm," was all she replied, absorbed in reading as she took the steps. Anders and Alistair followed. She flipped to the next letters, expediently reading through a few, and walking faster to the armoury. Stripping off her helm, she made a frustrated sound and threw it on the table, before taking to her greaves. Fae quivered back to Alistair, bottom lip trembling as she watched Neria.

"What weight do any of my words have? A lot of good they did the Circle. A request to the head of state, when the Tower and its templars are Chantry matters."

"I thought you were glad of the freedom they gained," Alistair said as he ran his hand up Fae's back, pulling the girl into his neck. "You said Irving sent word of changes."

"Is there any good in it? No," she said, pulling at the straps of her armour. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her under-armour was sweaty. "No, there is some good, but in the end, shouldn't mages be separated? Shouldn't they be taught to control this dangerous abnormality?"

"I can't quite believe my ears," Anders said, his mouth dropping open.

Neria threw the satchel down, and some of the missives spilt out, "Who would I have hurt - who might I have killed if I had never been schooled by the Circle? If I'd just remained some dirty elf in the gutter of an alienage?"

"You think you would have survived the Blight? That any of us would have?" Anders said, throwing his hands up. "I can't think of you just hurting anyone for the fun of it. Well, save Brant back there."

"But how many mages do? There are enough men who abuse what little power they gain without the advantage of magic."

Alistair inhaled deeply, hesitating before he said, "You always helped the collective if they asked."

Neria leant over the table, before unstrapping her lower cannons, "I know. I know I did. Maybe it was right, I don't know."

"Of course it was right!" Anders burst, "Even if they go a bit far sometimes, you helped mages be free."

"So you've never done anything wrong with your magic? Never a slip up?" Neria said, laying down her armour to look at him, "Not in all the times you tried to escape, not in all your years of learning?"

Anders gaped a bit before crossing his arms, lips clapping shut. Shaking his head, he escaped into the hall.

Neria continued to remove her armour, setting it aside for cleaning. Alistair and Fae's eyes were upon her, and her voice was quieter when she finally said, "They still collect phylacteries, you know."

"So I've heard."

"When we were in the city, Romel asked that I petition the Queen. That it is contrary to what she agreed. And now this letter from the Tower..."

"Maker..." Alistair sighed, adjusting Fae in his arms.

"I think I need to go sooner than later. Shouldn't I?"

"If you want to," Alistair said with a sigh, "Might not tell Anders though."

White hair clinging around her cheeks, Neria exhaled and closed her eyes, hand over the pendant in her pocket. The humming was growing in her thoughts, buzzing beneath her skin, and the sweat seemed to do little. She was cold and the fatigue wouldn't fade.

"Are you alright?" Alistair asked, his voice soft.

"Just tired," she quietly replied. Organizing the rest of her things, she stepped into Alistair's offered arm. Fae was still watching her, bottom lip pouted. The girl reached for her, and Neria accepted her, feeling the babe link her arms round her neck. She breathed in deeply through her nose and squeezed Fae, as Alistair retrieved the satchel they wandered back into the hall.

"Some days I just want to escape everything," Neria said against Fae's shoulder. "I feel I need to."

"It's not so bad here," Alistair said, tilting his head to match Fae's gaze. It made the toddler grin and turn to hide against Neria.

"I'll go before the Landsmeet," Neria said, pausing as she leant against the door to her study. Fae struggled to get down, and as soon as her feet touched ground, she ran to the toy horse by the fireplace. Neria took the satchel, walking to her desk to sort through the missives. "I - I'm going to name Nathaniel my successor."

"What?" Alistair said, stopping in the doorway, "I - when did you decide that?"

Drawing the scroll from the satchel, Neria tossed it to him, "A while ago heh. I've already received the confirmation from the First Warden. When I relinquish the arling, he will be the new Warden-Commander. And... and we'll be free to do as we wish."

Alistair read the letter, quiet for a while before he asked, "What do you want to do?"

"I was thinking the Wardens need an outpost on the other side of the country," Neria cleared some things off her desk, revealing the map beneath glass tabletop. She motioned past Redcliffe, into the foothills of the Frostbacks. "Doesn't that seem like a nice enough cover? Plausible?"

Almost grinning, Alistair looked from where Fae played back to Neria, "But what about your phylactery? Don't you think the Chantry will send someone? Given everything that's going on?"

"Sometimes I don't think so," Neria took a deep breath, tracing her fingers along the southern road on the map. "Sometimes I feel like I've done enough."

Alistair was quiet before he put his hand over hers, pulling it up to his lips. Neria's expression relaxed more as he wrapped her close. "If it's what you want."

Closing her eyes, Neria trembled, the itching hum behind her eyes, "It's what I need."

* * *

Though you traverse the void, I am by your side,

Wade the spaces and hear my song renew.

Let my voice be your guide,

Your faith a light in dark places.

_- Andraste 14:9_

.

The recitation in Cullen's thoughts was almost done without thought, as he stood in the library and minded the apprentices that sat together in a study group. Prospective elementalists - they were accursed creatures. They had spent the better part of two hours reviewing the large tomes, practising pronunciation. Tedious work that he only needed to half listen to.

Cullen's eyes darted as another apprentice scurried into the room, scarce looking at him as she joined the trio of young men. She was older - due for her Harrowing soon. She was one of the few who had survived - as had the dark-haired boy. She spoke heatedly with them, and silently sighing, Cullen's eyes drifted and he listened to what they said.

" - and that Irving is going to start testing full mages! She's coming for a recruit, can you believe it?"

"Why get all excited about it, Marina," one replied, laying the ribbon to mark his place in the tome. "It's not like we'd have a chance."

"I don't know," she replied, head into her hand. "I just remember how she saved us."

"Wynne saved us just as much," the dark-haired boy said, "And Petra too."

"But she's seen so much - she's been all over the country," Marina's glanced Cullen's way before she leant closer to them and whispered something.

Cullen narrowed his eyes. They knew better than to do such things. One of the other boys seemed acutely aware of it though, and spoke up, fiddling with his quill.

"Those aren't good thoughts, really, there's much more here," he quietly said, before asking, "Did he say what she's going to lecture on?"

"Darkspawn I think - or demons," Marina replied, stealing the quill away and brushing the tip of her nose, "Don't you want to see her? I remember, she used to tutor you in healing."

The dark haired boy muttered something under his breath.

"Oh come on, Oliver," Marina teasingly said, prompting him to blush. "Of course she'll remember you. Didn't you end up horribly scarring her or something?"

"No!" Oliver defensively said, flipping his book shut, "I was learning. I'd do fine now."

"I bet," Marina waggled her brow, and the other boys laughed.

"Return to your studies," Cullen firmly said, and they fell silent. The library was quiet in the wake of his words, and the apprentices all looked at him. "Save your prattle for the dorms."

The mage apprentices scarce looked at him again, and Marina sat at the table. There were a few snickers as she murmured something, but soon they settled back into their studying routine. Never letting his eyes stray from their activities, Cullen silently sighed within his helm, pulling his thoughts from the idea of her. He must find calm, he must find peace. Like picking up the next paragraph in a book, his thoughts brought voice to his mantra.

.

Faded worlds leave shadowed memories,

But my love for you is unending,

Follow me, child, and I shall uplift you.

In my steps lies Salvation.

_-Andraste 14:10_

_

* * *

_

Sitting in the bath with Fae, Neria sang a little song that the girl splashed and spoke along with. The water in the copper basin was warm and came high on the toddler's chest as Neria scrubbed her fingers through the girl's hair.

"And the maiden smiled and said to him..." Neria sang, smiling and leaning in close to her, waiting for a reply.

Fae's response faded into a quiet murmle, and she leant against her mother's leg, splashing a little wooden bird into the water. It was a moment before the girl slipped back and began blowing bubbles in the water, kept aloft by Neria's hands. She laughed and the elven mage smiled.

"You know, we'll turn into prunes," Neria said, letting Fae lay on the water. "Other girls don't have mothers that can keep the water warm indefinitely."

"Uh huh!" Fae replied, hitting the bird again and splashing Neria, much to her own amusement.

"Nope!" Neria softly laughed, her eyes creasing with fatigue.

Fae coughed as she splashed and swallowed some water, and sitting up hugged Neria's knee. Sighing, Neria patted her on the back, smirking slightly. The girl's hand passed over her skin, and she stopped, looking up at her mother.

Touching the odd bit of skin behind Neria's knee, Fae went, "No."

"I know," Neria said, forcing a smile as she leant and bumped noses with her. "Not good at all. Come on." Hoisting Fae up out of the bath, the girl started to scream and strain to get back in the tub. "No, we're done. That's all! All gone." She turned and froze the tube, and Fae's cry cut away as she stared at the frosty ice.

Drying Fae off, Neria put her down a moment and looked at the back of her thigh. It almost seemed like nothing, a dry bit of skin. But to her it betrayed the itch. It was cold, she could not feel it. She ran her fingers over it, and Fae used the opportunity to run naked across the room.

Distracted, Neria's eyes unfocused, listening to some distant sound. It was only when there was the thud and subsequent scream that she shook her head, and hurried to where Fae lay, sitting on the ground bawling amidst beside the drawer she'd pulled out. Alistair was in the doorway to see Neria hauling the babe up, an effusion of green light fading from her skin.

"Is she alright?"

"Yes, she's fine," Neria said, swaying to rock the half snuffling girl. "Being naughty. Sorry for the noise."

"No, it's alright," he motioned back to their room, "Enough meditations for now anyway." He came closer and wrapped them both in his arms. "Besides, two beautiful ladies naked as the day the Maker made them, how could I resist?"

Neria laughed and smirked at him, "How indeed?"

Taking Fae, Alistair began to dress the girl for bed, his eyes straying back to Neria as she pulled on her nightgown, "How have you been feeling?"

Wringing her hair out, Neria hesitated before laughing lightly and saying, "Just fine. Why do you say that?"

Struggling with Fae, Alistair murmured something to the toddler before adding, "You... haven't seemed yourself. You look like... well... like you did during the Blight sometimes. Spread too thin."

"Plans, you know," she said with a grin, tucking the onyx pendant into the pocket on her gown. "I heard from Anora. She seems willing to provide peripheral support – for stability, you know? I've also... found a place for us. Do you remember the tower in Honnleath?"

"Where we found Shale?"

"Mhm," Neria said, running her fingers through her hair as turned back to him, "I've acquired it. We'll be able to live there. It seems... Wilheim's son has been trying to get out of the town since the Blight."

"Creepy," Alistair said, making a face at Fae.

"We're moving?" Calevar was in the adjoining doorway, and both Neria and Alistair stopped.

"The Wardens need an outpost on the other side of the country," Neria said, her hands knotting together. "We'll be going there to man it. It's near the mountains."

Calevar's brow knit further as he shook his head, throwing the blanket in his hands against the wall before running back through their bedroom. Fae struggled out of Alistair's grasp and hurried to retrieve the blanket, waving it as she yelled something after the boy.

"You didn't tell him yet?"

Neria took the blanket as the toddler looked to her, "No... I - I planned to soon." She picked Fae up, whispering to her, "Let's find Magge."

* * *

Neria tried to pull her hair out of the way as she retched into the chamber pot. Groaning, she caught her breath and thickly swallowed, reaching for the water Alistair provided.

"We should push back the travel," he said, unable to sit in his concern.

"No, no we must go," Neria whispered, wiping her mouth as she sunk against the wall. She'd been ill most mornings as of late. "Or we'll never make it back in time for the Landsmeet. I'll be better. I promise."

"So we'll go in the fall," Alistair conceded, "Before we make for Honnleath."

"Not enough time," she smiled weakly, looking up at him. "Get me some bread? … and an apple."

Alistair's brow knit as he hesitated and softly said, "Of course, love. I'll be right back. Did you want me to get Anders?"

"Maker, no," she said, blinking lengthily as she pulled herself back up towards the bed. She sighed, face down on the cool pillow, her voice lighter, "Last thing I need is that man making fun of me."

"Rather I do?"

"Yes," she quietly murmured, eyes closed. She heard Alistair chuckle and leave. Scarce able to abate the nausea in her weakened state, she lay there in the morning light, mentally running through the lists. Final things she needed to do in case it took them too long to go to the Circle. Always prepare.

The bed shook a bit and she opened her eyes to see Fen'in padding up to her. He was getting big. Neria's expression softened as he came to lay against her, and she sighed and wrapped an arm around him.

"You are much more serious than Ualan," Neria quietly whispered, resting her chin on the mabari's head. "He was so silly. Not nearly as intelligent as you."

Fen'in huffed quietly, and patted his muzzle on her hand.

"Obviously," Neria softly said, patting his belly. "Thank you for coming. Even if you're all smelly. You've been training, mmm." Drawing a deep breath, she murmured, "Come with me? I have to get some things done before we go. And before Alistair gets back."

Fen'in leant into Neria's leg as she moved and slowly dressed, pulling on one of her mage robes and tying the sash loosely. She patted the mabari on the head before picking up the small mirror she had. Her eyes were dark and she was pale. Pinching her cheeks a few times, she tilted the mirror, feeling to odd patch of skin at the base of her hair. Shivering, she snagged her brush and pulled it through her hair, before clipping the white tresses away from her face.

"Come," she patted her thigh and Fen'in followed as she retrieved the onyx pendant from her nightgown. She rubbed up her neck as she left the bedchamber, somehow imagining it might rub away the incessant hum. Walking with care, she found her way to the common room, where Varel sat at table with Nathaniel and Brant.

"Commander," Varel said, and they all stood up as she waved her hand. "I am glad to see you well."

"I wouldn't go that far," she weakly smiled, scrunching the top of Fen'in's head as she said, "But time waits for no man."

Brant pressed his lips in a line, watching her in a peculiar way.

"There is no harm in resting," Nathaniel said, tossing the parchment down on the table. "We were just going over some of the costs. I think we'll be able to get a lot accomplished in the city and the keep this summer."

"Good," she said, easing into a chair with them. "So you're... considering my offer then."

"I am," Nathaniel said, sitting back down, "Though I'm not certain I am quite deserving of the role. Is not Brant the senior Warden here?"

"Ouch, thanks," Brant smirked and leaned on his elbows, "Better you than me. Besides... I plan on following them to the back arsed side of this country."

Neria turned her head, her mouth falling open, "Pardon?"

"Injure your delicate elven ears too?" Brant tilted his head, clasping his hands together, "I'm coming with you to set up the outpost."

Touching his arm, Neria said, "That's not something you need to do, Brant."

"What? And leave me here? I don't think so," he laughed, leaning back in the chair to pin his knee against the table. "You'll need help, I imagine."

"Magge has agreed to come with us, thankfully," Neria inhaled deeply, tempering the well of nausea that came. "And I am canvassing for some soldiers willing and able. Though we may be able to petition Redcliffe, if we help establish the town again. If Eamon will speak to either of us yet."

Neria laughed a little, leaning back into her chair. The three men looked at her oddly, "The Arl Eamon, he ... oh nevermind."

"Do you still plan to leave this afternoon? I'm not certain that's best -"

"Yes, we'll be leaving," Neria said, "So I'm here to sign anything you need before we are on the road."

Alistair hurried into the room and stopped when he saw her, "Maker, why do you do that?"

Resting her head in her hand, Neria looked at him, "Need to escape when I can. A mage always knows that."

Alistair rolled his eyes and laid the bread in front her, and sitting down, produced a green apple, "I should keep this, you know."

Neria narrowed her eyes at him, "I'd like to see you try."

Spending the better part of an hour with them, Neria finally dismissed them and picked up the core of her apple to nibble it again. As Nathaniel made to leave, she stopped him, weakly pulling to her feet. Snagging a missive off the table, she put the document in his hands. "Here - this is for your family. Before... well, so it is by my hand, not yours."

Opening it, Nathaniel's dark eyes flashed up to her, "An estate. Neria - I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything," she smiled tiredly, accepting the hand he offered. "How is Delilah's son?"

"Strong and walking and speaking very well," Nathaniel said with a proud grin. "I was able to make it to the city last week. He's grown so much while I was gone..."

Exchanging a few more words, Neria and Alistair spent the last of the afternoon reducing their gear into tight packs. Magge was waiting with Calevar and Fae in the main hall when they decided not much else could be done.

"No horse?" Alistair said, looking at her with pleading eyes.

"No," Neria said, wrinkling her nose.

Alistair pouted into a grin before scooping Fae into his arms. The girl laughed and struggled with him as he growled and played, talking to her under his breath. It was then Brant caught Neria's arm.

"Be careful out there," he said, looking at her sternly.

Neria pursed her lips in a grin, "I think we'll do just fine."

"Well don't take any unneeded risks," he said, inhaling deeply. He almost looked sheepish before he quietly said, "Have you told him?"

"Told him what?" Neria seemed a little confused.

"Oh please," Brant rolled his eyes, "You know my... my wife had a thing for apples. And she looked just like you. Not delicate and petite like you- but just as pale. And just as sick in the morning." He turned his gaze on her, expression blank.

"It's early," Neria said, her cheeks flushing rose. "I - I don't even know. It is just... it's nothing. He'd never let me go."

"And you shouldn't be."

"I have to," she said, closing her eyes. "Just a few more things. And then I can..." Neria sighed, "I don't want to think about any of it. It's all too soon."

Wandering over to Alistair, Neria took Fae from him and hugged her close, kissing over her cheeks and face. The toddler had started to blubber and cry, realizing what was happening.

"You be good for Magge, and maybe Varel will let you help with the arling, mm?" Neria said, and Fae shook her head, face all red with tears. "You'll be good?"

"I might have found something for you, you know," Brant said, crossing his arms and exchanging a grin with Calevar. "But it's only for good little girls."

Back on her feet, Fae tried to suck up her tears, but a pudgy bottom lip stuck out. She balled her hands into fists and sniffled a few times, looking up at him. He knelt and picked her up, holding her as she ruefully glared at Neria and Alistair.

"Here," Brant produced a small glass brooch, "What is that?"

"Buh-fy." Fae said, trying to take it from his grasp.

Brant smiled and released it, "Yes, a beautiful butterfly, just like you."

Holding the gem close, Fae began to cry again, reaching for Alistair as Neria hugged Calvar.

"Take care of your sister," she whispered, kissing the top of his head.

"I will, Madre," Calevar smiled and reached for the girl's hand. "Come on, wave goodbye."

Neria whistled, and Fen'in trotted to her from where he sat, ready to move. Shouldering their bags, Alistair hesitated before leaning to kiss Fae's red cheek again, and in another moment they'd made it out the gates of the keep. Not a moment more, and the toddler's plight escalated into a shrill cry.


	6. Chapter 6

The first few days on the North Road resulted in Neria getting a bright sunburn, and when she peeled and healed herself it mellowed into a light smatter of freckles. They had made good progress, the roads were relatively clear, and they passed a Cousland patrol from before setting up camp on the edge of the Bannorn.

"You know, I rather like your new spots," Alistair said, admiring her backside as she bent over the fire. "I don't remember you ever freckling like that."

"Oh," Neria said with a little laugh, "What, old me not good enough for you?"

"So very far from being old," Alistair said, snagging her by the thighs and pulling her down into his arms. Fen'in watched him cautiously from the other side of the fire. "How are you feeling?"

"A little stronger," she lied, slouching into him. She closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair. "It smells so good out here. The sun baking everything."

"Like you," he murmured, grinning.

"Yes," she grinned too, letting her hands go lax in her lap.

"You know, this all seemed a lot brighter in my memories," Alistair said, still toying with her hair. It was almost to her mid-back. "There the ground is comfortable, the food is appetizing, and the dog treats me with much less derision."

Neria laughed a little, tilting her head forward. Patting the ground, Fen'in came closer, and she draped her legs across the muscular dog. He rumbled quietly in his own way before laying his head down. "Don't you worry, Alistair treats me just fine. Must get used to my husband, he was here first."

Alistair hummed happily and pulled her back into him, "Yes. I sort of called dibs."

Fen'in didn't bother to lift his head.

Running his hand around Neria's shoulder, Alistair scratched his fingers up into her hairline, and she nearly purred. When he stopped, she made a disappointed sound. He pulled her hair back, though in the low evening light he had difficulty seeing the odd patch on her skin.

"Are you alright? How long has this been here?" he quietly said, testing his calloused finger over it.

Neria flushed and pulled away, but he caught her before she could get far, "Oh you know, just some sort of rash. I hoped you wouldn't see. The salves I've tried haven't done much, maybe I can ask Wynne."

"Good idea," he said, his expression clearing.

Tilting her head, Neria leant over him and ran her fingers over his face, "Have to deal with me, ugly bits and all."

"Just need to get some darkspawn blood on you somewhere, and it'd be perfect," Alistair sighed, pulling her over him. She smiled and put a hand beside his head. "Maybe this is nice. Just us out in the world."

Neria laid her head on Alistair's chest, closing her eyes to the hum and shimmer there at the edge of her hearing. She shivered, and he pulled their blanket around them. "Like the good old days."

"Minus the archdemon," Alistair said, "Regrettably, of course. Pity that." He licked his lips, grinning as she chuckled quietly. "Or the darkspawn. Or Sten glowering at us." His voice softened down, "Just dreams of you. Of Fae. I love you."

"Love you too," she whispered, closing her eyes. She slipped her hand in his, using it to anchor her thoughts. They crawled across her breastplate, a vibrating buzz that seemed like swarm trapped inside her. "Fen'in, stand guard."

The dog harrumphed and pulled up, stepping off a few paces and sitting upright, ears pert to listen to the surrounding woods.

"Love me," she sighed, before nipping his bottom lip and urging her hips against him. "Maker, it's been so many days since I've felt right. Since I've wanted you."

"Gee, thanks," Alistair said, stirring against her as each chuckled. He brushed his thumb up over her breast, blushing slightly, "No tent?"

Neria's eyes fell half lidded, her mouth in his neck and drawing a deep sigh as she murmured, "Nope..."

* * *

"Good," Daylen said with noticeable malaise, guiding the trio of apprentices, "Now maintain your concentration and grasp through your connection. Your prompt." He waited patiently as the first two uttered their command and the spellwisps flared to life. The third struggled and shivered a sigh.

"Again," Daylen said when the students muttered, summoning his own wisp without a thought. He waved a hand to send it bobbing in the air as Cullen's eyes turned their way. Each student finally summoned them. "Better. You must practise your prompts - they need to be exact. You need to be able to focus without thought. Separate yourself from process - it should be its own vein of concentration." Blinking lengthily, he sighed before adding, "Now form a net and I will interrupt."

The apprentices murmured their replies, readying their hands in the air with a subtle glow, and each began to weave the air.

Cullen turned his head as a trio strode through the library doorway - it was uncommon for the hands on instruction to be interrupted. He stared as he saw her hair.

Neria walked slowly alongside the First Enchanter, with a knight - the man who had been in the Tower during the uprising. The rest of the world seemed to blur away as he strained to hear them.

"You came earlier than I imagined," Irving said, his staff making a metered click as they walked.

"It has been too long since I saw my first family," Neria said with a tactful smile. "There is much to discuss."

"Indeed, child," Irving replied, sighing a little. "Indeed."

She was so pale. So sickly. It no doubt was her damnable art. Fatigue clung to her skin in an unnatural way. A slender doll whose lips moved. Their words had blended together.

"Thank you again for allowing me egress," Alistair said as the neared the far doors.

"It is the least I can offer," Irving said, holding the door for Neria, "The Grey Wardens are always welcome in these halls. Three weeks on foot is no meagre thing."

"Maybe not anymore," Neria said with a grin. Then they were gone.

Cullen's pulse rose in his ears, seeping over his cheeks. He could feel the heat beneath his armour, a draught that knotted his stomach. It was her voice, but altered. She wore armour, parading as a person. _Blessed Maker, steady my hand upon the oar. I am steadfast against the current._

The perversion of her magic pulled further away and it left a gap. The apprentices had lost their connection to the Fade, and Daylen tried to rally their attention.

"But that's Neria, Daylen," the youngest boy said. "She's a hero. She gave us independence."

"And some independence it is," Daylen murmured, eyes darting Cullen's way.

* * *

"I am sorry to say... many of the rooms still lie empty," Irving said, his wizened fingers linking over the staff. "But at least you shall have one of the smaller apprentice dorms to yourselves."

"Thank you, First Enchanter," Neria inclined her head, "I appreciate it."

"We will meet with some of my recommendations come morning," Irving said with a nod.

Neria and Alistair turned the opposite direction, their pace slowing as they passed the last templar. He kept his eyes behind his back as he walked, supporting the pack strung over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry because I know you're going to be alone in here a fair bit," Neria quietly said. "You could always erm, fraternize with the templars, or go to the docks I suppose."

"You think I'm actually going to leave you alone in here if I can help it?" Alistair said under his breath, and they paused in the doorway. "Sorry for not really trusting them to let you go."

Neria's expression lightened to a smile and she clasped her hands together, "I could kiss you."

"Yes, well," Alistair laughed nervously, glancing into the wide central chamber, "Probably not the best idea."

Concealing her smile, Neria glanced through the chamber as they moved again and stopped in her tracks.

"Isn't that -"

"Jowan..." she quietly said, her hand falling around her throat. Had she been gone so long she'd forgotten her way? She should have known they were passing the storerooms and enchanting.

"The blood mage," Alistair replied, a line in his brow.

"Not anymore," Neria tried to swallow the emotion, a flare of anger suddenly there against her partner. "He's tranquil."

"Probably best," Alistair said, crossing his arms uncomfortable.

Neria made a sound of surprise, a colour rising on her cheeks as she said, "Go find Wynne. She is a floor up, like Irving said." Her voice took a harder edge, "Maker knows this prison isn't very big, it will be short work to find her."

"Neria..."

Crossing her arms, Neria quickly walked away, lifting her chin up as she approached the trio of tranquil mages that stood doing inventory. What was she getting herself into? A flush rose under the collar of her robes as a close-shaven woman pointed to her and Jowan put down his basket.

"Neria. You have returned to Kinloch Hold. I had not expected to see you again."

The words stole her breath like a shot of Legacy White Shear and left her reeling just as badly. Any inflection, hurt or sarcastic twinge that had ever been present was gone. There was nothing.

"Are you feeling well? Your complexion is rather poor."

"How long have you been tranquil?" The words came tumbling out, and the other effaced mages moved about their duties as if nothing had been said at all.

"Approximately 340 days. Had you not heard of the rite?" Jowan blinked methodically, his movements as smooth as ever. "Some have expressed their surprised that it was not conducted sooner." He stood up, hands at his sides, "Did you require assistance with Circle enchantments?"

"Oh Maker, Jowan," Neria quietly said, and she had to cup a hand over her mouth, stifling her hyperventilation, "I am so sorry. I should have known."

"It is of little consequence," he replied, inclining his head slightly. "I am lucky to be alive, given the circumstances."

Neria smeared her tears away, nodding as she clenched her jaw. The humming had come again. She seemed to be able to track its triggers with stress or complete relaxation, she were only free in the mediocre middle.

"Perhaps you should speak with one of the healers - it is fortunate that Wynne approaches," Jowan said, before adding, "I must return to my duties."

"Neria," Wynne hurriedly said, pulling the elf back into her arms and forcing a smile, "Whatever are you doing here?"

"We've come to recruit another mage for the Wardens," Neria emptily replied against Wynne's shoulder. The older woman kept an arm around her, redirecting them across the chamber and back into the hall where Alistair was. He followed them, a shadow of concern over his features.

"I had meant running to see Jowan your first moment back," Wynne said, shaking her head.

"I wasn't thinking," she whispered, blinking her eyes dry as she steadied her breath. Neria scratched up the back of her neck, skin crawling with the melodic whispered hum that teased there at the periphery of her senses. "I had to see him. I could have done something, I could have done anything."

"Jowan is a grown man," Wynne replied, inhaling slowly, "He was always older than you. More than capable of making his own decisions."

"I could have recruited him, Wynne," Neria said, her voice hitching with emotion. "I could have stopped this. If I'd paid attention sooner to what the Chantry was doing."

"Mind your voice," Wynne said as they neared a pair of templars. "He was a blood mage, Neria. That is not the sort of cohort you need. We would have punished him no matter what. Trying to establish ourselves as self regulating means we can only be so moderate."

"Would you recruit a blood mage?" Alistair quietly said.

Blinking rapidly, Neria stretched her neck as the humming ebbed, and she softly said, "No." She sighed, "Of course not."

A young boy came running down the hall towards them, "Wynne!"

Raising her brow, the elderly woman turned to him and pursed her lips, "What is it, child?"

"Leyton is hurt - in practise, he -"

Wynne sighed and gave Neria another squeeze, "Apprentices... alright, take me to him."

Neria and Alistair passed the baffle into their room, the half-wall granting scant privacy to the open space. The elven mage sunk onto the bed, looking down with a sigh.

"You know he was my best friend," she quietly said. "Blood mage or no, I don't know if anyone deserves that. Can't a person ever redeem themselves?"

"You also told me what happened between you - when Duncan recruited you," Alistair said, crossing his arms. "He is not without blame. He's lucky to be alive."

"And what about me - or Anders - Alistair? Can you imagine one of us like that?" Neria shook her head, tears welling in her eyes again, "Maker's balls, look at me. I'm sorry, it... I didn't think it would hurt so much seeing him like that."

"Hey - hey it's okay," Alistair said, taking a knee to pull her in against him. "We've had a long day. Least we'll have a bed to sleep in."

"Not together though," she whispered against him, hugging him tightly. Turning her head, she pulled back from him suddenly, blushing as a templar paused in the door. Alistair up and nodded, crossing his arms and watching until the knight continued on. Neria rubbed up her throat, where her skin buzzed and hummed. Closing her eyes, she quietly said, "I don't feel the best, maybe it's good I get some rest. Irving is an early riser."

"If that's what you want," Alistair said, brow creased in concern.

Hugging her abdomen, Neria shifted to lie down on the small bed. The smell of the blankets and air, the lack of privacy and familiarity of the bunks took her back. It was comforting in a way his arms would never be - but as much it reminded her of how far she had come. She could not go back. "I just... need some rest."

* * *

When Johan arrived to relieve him from the shift, Cullen turned to take the stairs to the Knight-Commander's chambers.

"Where are you going?"

"I must speak with the Commander before I retired," Cullen flatly said.

"You realize the time?" Johan said, taking up his place along the wall. "It's the middle of the night. Do you really think he'll be pleased to have you barge in?"

Cullen grit his teeth, the silhouetted image of her pale hair there in his memory as he stopped. Unclasping his hands, he nodded and replied, "You are right. Thank you."

"Sleep well. Will you show me that shield technique tomorrow?"

"If there is time," Cullen said, inclining his head before turning the opposite direction down the hall. The lamps were dimmed for the night. He had been relegated to the first split of the evening patrols - and with the library cleared out, it was quiet. As it should be.

Passing through the wide space of the library for one more check, Cullen's senses heightened when he saw the wavering glow of a spellwisp and lamp. The magic tingled the tip of his tongue. The golden light of the fire contrasted with the sickly green, and he set his jaw as he advanced around the bookshelf. He moved with care to conceal the weight of his steps. When he ran into a table, Neria turned around with a start. Waving her hand, the elven mage dismissed her spellwisp, and it brought a flare of magical energy in his chest.

"Cullen," she breathlessly said, cradling the wide book to her chest. Her features lost their sickly pallor in the warmer, dim light. Stepping forward she turned up the flame on the lamp. She laughed a little nervously, blushing, "Of all people to run into. Makes it... makes it almost seem like old times, doesn't it?"

"Mages are restricted from the library and corridors after hours," he plainly said, watching as she marked her place in the book, putting it face down on the table with the others. "You have no right to be here."

"What harm is there?" she quietly said, glancing up to him. "You'd think I'd be able to sleep here no problem but..."

Cullen clenched his jaw. Her pale hair was undone and went a fair ways past her shoulders. It was held back by a few braids. The way she always used to wear it. But there was time around her eyes and darkness within them, leaving her cheeks hollowed thin. The soft curves that had once been there were gone. He could feel his blush rising.

"You of all people should know better," he replied, speaking full volume. "You must abide the rules as all others of your kind do."

Neria's expression hardened, and she lifted her eyes up to him, "I am here as a Grey Warden. I will keep my own hours to accomplish what I must for my order."

Cullen straightened. Such wilful disobedience. He tried to recall their past, their days in the tower - but the image of the demons, of her face outside the Harrowing chamber was all that came. Spattered with blood and thinned just like this. "I will only give you one opportunity to cease your activities and return to your chambers, mage."

"Why are you being like this, Cullen," Neria furrowed her brow. "Honestly, what harm am I doing?"

"What harm?" he said, pushing a chair out of his way to move closer to her. She stepped back just as far, finding herself up against the bookshelf. "You have the audacity to - do you know not what your actions did? Do you think I don't remember what you did?"

"My actions saved Ferelden, you can decide if that's ego or not," Neria said, crossing her arms as she looked up to him. "I am no longer your concern, either way."

Cullen inhaled deeply through his nose, shaking his head a bit as he lorded over her. She smelt wrong. It was not like the Fade. It was not beauty, silk and cream tempting him. But her gown hugged her slender curves none the less, and his eyes fell along her neckline. His voice betrayed the weakness, "Why have you come here, Neria?"

"To recruit for the Grey Wardens," Neria said, bristling as she motioned at the bookshelf behind her, "I don't have access to a library like this in Amaranthine. Of course I'm going to read while I can." Her voice softened as she tried to laugh, "You know me and books."

"Another mage," he sneered, "Do you think the Chantry will stand for such things very much longer? How many apostates do you think you can lead?"

Neria shook her head, sidestepping him, "You live in isolation. You have no idea what we face out there. What is done to protect you and everyone. So don't patronize me." When she made to take the book with her, he caught his wrist.

"You may return at an appropriate time to peruse the Circle's library. Books remain here," he said, looking up the curve of her neck as her defiant eyes turned back to him. "You used to be a good person, Neria. But you fell long ago. I will be watching you."

Shaking his hand away as she blushed, Neria said, "Yes. That's what you always did, wasn't it."

Looking down as she walked away, Cullen saw the book she had been reading. Midwifery. He frowned and followed her.

"I know where my quarters are," Neria said under her breath, her steps light and quick.

Cullen followed with a sure pace, "I am ensuring that is where you return. You have shirked our rules so many times, what is to prevent you from doing it again? And what might it be next?"

"Maker, Cullen," Neria said, as she hesitated in the doorway of her room. His eyes were upon her, inspecting and cautious. "Your duty has not been kind to you."

"No," he replied, narrowing his eyes as he looked at the shadow along her neck again. "No, you do not speak His name."

Neria made a small sound, crossing her arms as she turned into the room, her words tossed back, "Good night, ser."

Sitting down on her bed, Neria put her hands over her face. It was the middle of the night. The dreams had woken her again, and the itch under her skin combined with the song she could not hear left her on edge. She must sleep. She desperately needed sleep.

"Are you alright?" Alistair's voice came from the cot beside hers. She could see him in the dim light from the hallway.

"I've been better," she whispered, waiting for Cullen's steps to leave.

"Come here," he softly said, sitting up more.

"I can't," she whispered, crossing her arms to hug herself, "Not here."

"No one will see. Even if they do, what can they know?" Alistair moved and sat beside her, pulling her close even as she protested. "They don't own you anymore."

The hard steps of armoured feet trailed away down the hall, and Neria let herself sink into his chest, suddenly crying, "Maker Alistair, I'm so tired. This place..."

Alistair smoothed his hand through her hair, resting his lips on the top of her head, "You think I don't notice you always waking in the night?"

Neria turned her face down into his bare chest, shuddering as she breathed him in. He held her more firmly. It helped. It always helped. It anchored her from the melody that beckoned her to dance, that made her limbs eager and her hands yearn to move. It was maddening. But he reminded her of what was real.

"How long are you going to try and hide from me, Neria?" Alistair weakly said, caressing over her back and shoulders. "After all these years, how could I not know what you do when you have the nightmares..."

"Please," Neria softly cried, tears spilling again. Maker, where had all her strength gone? She was chaos. "Not now. Not here in the Tower. Isn't it hard enough being here?"

Alistair sighed, resting his cheek atop her head as he said, "A-alright."


	7. Chapter 7

_ "Here, feel?" she said, taking his hand and placing it on her swollen belly. "Can you feel it?"_

_ A little thrill shot through his chest, feeling the tiny nudge against his hand through her skin. Cullen sank into the chair, awed by the simple joy. _

_ She tucked her hair back behind her ear. Pale, snowy tresses, as airy and light as her features. Like the dress she wore, lace and linen clinging to her womanly curves. _

_ "Isn't it amazing?" Her voice seemed fragmented._

_ He stared still, his hands hanging down between his knees as she caressed through his hair, "Yes." He wanted to lean and embrace that rounded belly, kiss it and worship it. "Yes. You are."_

_ She laughed lightly and the edges of the world blurred, his hands unwilling to respond as she danced closer. She was kneeling over him now, that white hair a curtain on his world. It left only her, milken skin and the bed – the bed? The ground was cold against his back. Stiff stone._

_ "Love me," she whispered, icy blue eyes devouring him. He couldn't feel her touch him. Wisps of magenta fire curled at the edges of her eyes, blackening into a hazy mist. "Show me I'm alive."_

_ "No," he whimpered, rousing from the sleep. He had fallen asleep somehow – exhaustion. There was no time in the shimmering cage. His hips and limbs ached from the weight of the armour. His voice shuddered again, "No…"_

_ Groaning, Cullen laboriously got back on his knees, hands shaking as he clasped them together. There were tears on his cheeks, and his lips were cracked dry. But there were details - the stone underfoot, the stain from his urine. The rotting bodies and blood. The smell was real. In those broken dreams, there were no scents like this. The wretched smell was real, Maker protect him._

_ And he prayed. It was all there seemed left to cling to, the thirst and sickness in his stomach twisting tight. Lyrium, sweet lyrium, if only its cool relief would wash his tongue, he could be stronger. _

_ He could not tell the time, the bodies long stilled, and it seemed the demons had gone elsewhere to play. The soft murmur of his words gave him strength, and he knew he could not falter. The sound of footsteps pulled Cullen from his reverie. He faltered._

_ It was her. In more detail than any of the torturous delusions and demonic cruelty had yet wrought. She was as worn as he. There was darkness in her eyes, and her hair was cut too short. There were others, strangers he could not place. How did they make it seem so real? Not anymore, no more!_

_ Cullen choked on his parched throat, "Not this trick again… no, no I will not falter, I will be strong!" He sunk more heavily to his knees, hands clasped to his forehead as he silently prayed._

.

_Do not trust in the flesh for strength,_

_ and turn your eyes from the Maker._

_ Salt upon your tongue _

_ and rain on your lips_

_ For He giveth to his children._

_ Andraste 13:6_

.

_"...you're alive. Don't you recognize me?"_

_ "Only too well," he said, "...they delve so deep to bring you..."_

_ More words came. It was her - another mage. The kind elder enchanter. Why would they bring her, of all people. "...we're here to help you."_

_ "Enough! Stop this game," Cullen's voice strained as he cringed lower in prayer. "If anything in you is human, kill me... I will not submit... y-you will not break me like you broke them..."_

.

Rising from the morning service, Cullen knelt in turn to receive the initiate's blessing, and lingered outside the door as his fellow templars filed past. He moved as the Knight-Commander exited the chantry.

"Ah, Cullen," Greagoir said as they walked the halls. The two apprentices they passed quickly ducked out of their way. "You had mentioned wishing to speak with me."

"I had thought to report discovering the mage Neria out of her quarters in the night, ser – she was in the library," Cullen said, keeping pace. "I also wished to verify that she will be remaining. You know my thoughts on her flaunting freedom."

Greagoir nodded to one of the senior enchanters before he directed Cullen within his quarters. Sighing, he shut the door and turned through the room, "I am more than aware of your opinions. You speak quite freely. But you do not consider the entirety of the situation."

"What needs be considered, ser?" Cullen said, "She is a mage. She should be here within the Circle. Or at the very least have a templar presence with her at the Vigil."

Dawdling back towards the narrow window that looked out on the bright morning, Greagoir said, "Cullen, it is neither your duty nor place to be questioning her. The Maker knows I would keep her here for the rest of her life, but she is a Grey Warden. They are beyond us for a very good reason. Beyond that, she is also a very powerful arlessa and political figurehead. She is more than just another mage."

"Apostate," Cullen hissed, righting himself as he more evenly said, "And possibly even maleficar. We cannot know what she and that other mage do at Amaranthine."

"I am not fond of the situation, despite what you may allege," Greagoir paused, pursing his lips, "Our position in regards to regulating the mages is tenuous at best, currently. At least within Ferelden. We must be cautious."

"And what does the Divine say of such goings on?"

"I am hardly privy to such information," Greagoir murmured, looking back to Cullen as he clasped his hands behind his back. "We are the Maker's hands. We are his soldiers and defences. We do and go as we are told. Do not forget this."

"She needs to be made an example of," Cullen replied, standing resolute, "That man she is with, he makes a mockery of everything we are."

"Another Grey Warden," Greagoir said with a sigh, "He took no vows. He is beyond our grasp."

"And if she begets progeny from him? Are they too beyond our reach?"

Greagoir affixed his gaze on Cullen, "I have it on very good authority that Grey Wardens are sterile. Perhaps it would be worthwhile allowing more of the lady mages to be Wardens, mm?"

Cullen closed his eyes and dropped his chin, exhaling through his nose. Greagoir came closer to him.

"I apologize," he said. "I should have warned you that she was coming. I had gotten word she was looking for a recruit, but I did not know the timeline." He wrinkled his nose, "It is one of many things Irving has begun to… keep from me."

"I do not need to be coddled."

"Then start acting like it," Greagoir said, waving his hand dismissively. "Stick to your patrols in the lower levels. The Warden-Commander will be evaluating a number of mages for recruitment today."

"It only seems a matter of time before they slip completely from the Chantry's grasp," Cullen quietly replied. "And what then? What will be on our heads for not reigning them in?"

"You are dismissed," Greagoire said, and Cullen saluted before leaving. Turning back to his desk, the Knight-Commander leant on its surface, "Maker's breath."

* * *

"Don't we get to see you in action?" the young man asked.

Neria almost laughed and shook her head, "I am not the one being evaluated."

"Shouldn't we know what we're up against," Daylen said with a smirk. He looked at the other man who nodded and grinned.

"And you'd promptly find yourselves bleeding out on the ground," Alistair said, "How many mages do you know that can make like a ghost while they impale you with a sword."

"You will encounter very few mages compared to those threatening your concentration with melee," Neria said, crossing her arms. "Anne, it is your turn. Disable Alistair as quickly as you can."

As Alistair swung his waster, the dark-haired mage raised her hands, and an aura of light surrounded him. When he shrugged the spell, she took a step back in surprise. She almost cried out as she dodged out of the way of his play-sword, her next spell disrupted. They exchanged back and forth as she did her best to evade him, scarce getting any spells off. In a moment of panic, a slick of grease followed by bright lick of fire caught up Alistair's legs and he cried out, falling into the burning oil.

"Stop," Neria called, hurrying from Wynne's side as she cast a chill that extinguished it. He was already on his knees, panting as he trembled and his clothing smoked. Wynne joined her and healed his burns.

"What do you think you're doing?" Neria snapped.

"I'm alright," Alistair quietly said, a sweat on his brow as he struggled with a smile.

"I-I'm sorry, he – I was –"

"If you cannot control yourself or your magic, you will not be one of us," Neria shook her head. "Lives depend on being able to act decisively. On not harming without intent."

"Yes, ma'am," the young woman said, dropping her face down like a scolded puppy.

Neria turned back to help Alistair up, "I'm sorry – what is it, Daylen?"

"That's me," the last mage replied with a smirk.

"I'll see your skills later. I want you to go through the same, but I must check the burns."

"Very well," Daylen said.

"I can heal them," the girl said, twisting her hands together.

"No," Neria said with greater temperance, "I will tend to it."

"I've really had a lot worse," Alistair said, laughing a little at the pain as they helped him move. "You have your lecture."

"How long have we been in here?" Neria said as she knelt to his legs.

"Go see Fen'in," Alistair said, "I bet he'll eat me if you don't go see him."

"He'll be fine," Wynne said, pushing Neria away as she helped Alistair moved down the hall.

Neria sighed and crossed her arms, watching them go as Daylen came to her side.

"You have to admit, that was pretty entertaining," he said, mimicking her posture. "Burning templars and all."

"He was not ordained," Neria said, turning to him. She had to look up, as the man stood more than a head taller. "And he is a fellow Grey Warden. If you are so interested in joining us, you would do well to treat him with the proper respect."

"Yikes, sorry," Daylen said, raising his hands and smirking, "Don't claw my sodding balls off."

Neria bridged a hand over her brow before saying, "Perhaps you'd care to join me. I can get you outside for a little at least."

"Oh?" Daylen said with a certain animation, "How's that?"

"I have a mabari pup that's been kept outside the tower," she said as they walked. "I need to train him every day."

"Anything to get out in the sun," he replied.

They walked down to the next level, and Neria said, "You'll excuse me if I mention that I don't recognize you. I grew up here."

"I didn't," he said, glancing at one of the templars as they walked. "I'm from the Free Marches. Long story short, I followed a girl here that I shouldn't have. She turned me in when she learned I was an apostate."

"I'm sorry," Neria quietly said, wrinkling her nose, "Had you been free long?"

"A few years," he said, resting his hands on the sash around his waist. "Most of my family is in Kirkwall. They weren't too big on... being confined." He smirked.

The templars moved to stop her as they came to the door.

"I'm bringing him back in, we're going to train my mabari," she murmured. Two of the knights exchanged glances and followed. She glanced over her shoulder, before digging through her satchel, "It's to be expected I suppose."

Fen'in turned the moment she came out the door. He was sopping wet in the morning light.

Neria put her hands on her hips, "Been having fun without me?"

Glancing cautiously at Daylen, Fen'in crept up and sniffed her hand before licking it and accepting the dried bit of meat she offered. Neria rubbed over his ears, grinning. The other mage stretched into the light , breathing deep as the two templars nearby stood on guard.

"Good, let's go train," she lightly said.

* * *

The applause rose through the lecture room and Neria smiled, clasping her hands over her abdomen as she stepped down from the podium. She drifted and spoke to a few of the senior enchanters. The incessant hum was crawling up the back of her neck, a burrowing that promised beauty untold if only she would go. She did her best to smile and talk, hand upon her throat to steady herself.

But she could not stop listening, and Neria's eyes glazed at the distant sound that overrode the drone of the mages around her. She paled, her skin clammy as she wavered on her feet.

"Neria?" Wynne asked. Her voice was muted. "You're as cold as ice."

Neria mouthed a reply, unable to quite hear herself over the thread that tugged at her soul. It seemed she surfaced though, shaking her head and putting a hand to her brow to follow with, "Not quite feeling myself."

Wynne caught her arm as Neria swayed, but when she slumped more fully the other mages turned, and a murmur of concern rose through them.

"Petra, help me get her to the infirmary," Wynne said, and the young woman nodded and took Neria's other arm. They helped the elf half-walk, and when they passed a templar in the hall, she said, "Just fainted, she'll be alright."

Helping Neria into a bed, Wynne felt her forehead and turned to Petra with a thin smile, "I'll take care of her. Best you hurry back to the others."

When they were alone, Wynne sighed and leant over Neria, whose head rolled in delirium as she woke, "What have you done to yourself now, child?"

"Where am I?" Neria softly asked, shivering as she clasped Wynne's arm.

"The infirmary," Wynne replied, a furrow deepening the wrinkles on her brow, "You spent many hours here in your training."

Neria put a hand over her brow, licking her lips ineffectually as she whispered, "It's so bright in here."

Wynne stood to dim the lamps nearby, before crossing her arms and standing over the elf, "What is going on, Neria?"

Shaking her head, Neria moved her arm, still squinting in the light as she said, "Not so used to giving lectures, I suppose." She smiled weakly.

Sighing, Wynne sat on the bed beside her, "You may not realize it, but what happened to me during the Blight has allowed me… to sense a lot more things than you might guess." She shook her head, "There is something off."

Neria closed her eyes and swallowed thickly. Putting her hand over Wynne's, she softly said, "I – I don't know if I can talk about it."

"It is more than one thing, Neria," Wynne said under her breath, glancing at the door. "There is something very dark about your person. Something I never felt before."

Cheeks colouring rose, Neria said, "Oh?"

"It," Wynne impressed, touching to her chest, "Does not like it."

"And you can just trust that?" Neria asked, closing her eyes as she frowned.

"It's never led me wrong."

Neria exhaled softly, closing her eyes. It was still too bright. The creeping itch under her skin and the vibrating hum had dulled some, but it was still there. Wynne took her hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Neria, you have always felt like a daughter to me," she quietly said, patting her hand on her hip, "But I cannot help you if you will not tell me."

"I am just so fearful of speaking of it here," Neria replied, rolling her eyes open. There was a sudden crush of emotion, and she looked to Wynne, "I – I haven't told Alistair yet… but I'm pregnant. I have verified it. It's wonderful but -"

A sadness took in Wynne's eyes as she squeezed Neria's hand tighter and shifted closer, "But if anyone here knew, oh Neria."

"I am trying to read all I can," Neria hurriedly said, "And we're leaving Amaranthine this summer, I'm stepping down so we might go elsewhere."

Patting Neria, Wynne was about to speak when she looked down. Turning her arm over, she ran her fingers over the odd patch of skin. Her posture straightened, and she gave a little shake of her head, "What is this?"

"The price of the gift," Neria said, looking away in shame, "At least, that's the best I can guess."

"Is it because you are a Grey Warden?" Wynne furrowed her brow.

"In part," Neria's voice grew raw, her hand drifting over her stomach, "It's because of what I had to do to get this."

"What have you and that rebel been up to?" Wynne let go of Neria's arm, expression stern.

"Why do you assume he had a part?"

"Because I have known him almost as long as you," Wynne replied, nodding, "I'm right, aren't I."

Neria rolled her head sideways, "He only helped because I begged him to."

"Neria," Wynne chided, glancing at the door again as her voice dipped, "I would have expected better of you. This – this is no creationism, this is something much darker."

"I had to," Neria said, closing her eyes, "I wanted this so badly for him. And every month away from our Joining made us more infertile…"

Wynne sighed and looked down, folding her hands in her lap. She could feel the sickly, odd presence in Neria. "Tell me what you did."


	8. Chapter 8

"Oh Neria," Wynne sighed, turning the pendant in her hands.

"I.. I know I can't hide it from him much longer," Neria softly said. "Too much is changing. It's… I think I'm going mad, Wynne."

"You shouldn't hide it," Wynne said, furrowing her brow again. "Why would you do this, dear?"

"Because I wanted this," Neria said, tears clinging in the edges of her eyes. "If… if I can just be sure it will survive, can you imagine how happy he will be?" Her voice fell quiet again, "He is such a good father, Wynne."

"I've no doubt of that," she sighed.

"He loves them so much," Neria closed her eyes, "He deserves this. And it worked. I don't care what it does to me if our baby survives."

"Do you think he would share the same sentiment?"

Neria frowned, as she said, "No, but he doesn't need to know." She looked up as Wynne opened her mouth, "How much is known about Warden pregnancies? Do not think I did not research this..." Her eyes drifted, glazing again as she listened. Laying back on the bed, she rubbed over her arm – over another odd patch of skin that had appeared overnight. She knew what was happening.

"I cannot in good conscience let you keep this," Wynne said, pulling it from Neria's weak reach.

"I need it," Neria said, looking to her with dark-ringed eyes. "I need it for my baby." Her voice trembled as she whispered, "Do you know what it is like to say that? To speak it makes it real."

"You see as well as I do what it is doing to you," Wynne said, thumbing over the cabochon's smooth surface. "Let me hold onto it for now. There are some texts worth referencing."

"I'm so tired, Wynne," Neria softly said, a tear spilling from the edge of her eyes. She scratched up her arm, the humming vibrating up into her shoulder.

"How far along are you?"

Thickly licking her lips, Neria inhaled and said, "By my estimates, nearly three months?"

"And given it will be for all accounts human, your term will be shorter than most elves.

Neria nodded, her hands drifting to her stomach as she looked away, closing her eyes, "Quickened." Fatigue creased around her eyes as they closed, "What would the Dalish say?"

"It hardly matters," Wynne said, putting her hand over Neria's. "For what it matters, I am glad for you. Maker protect the child, I hope you may keep it from the Chantry's eyes."

Linking her fingers with the older woman's hand, Neria's eyes rimmed with tears, "They'll have to kill me before they take it."

"All weepy," Wynne said, leaning over to pull the elf into an embrace. "Just like I was."

"I'm sorry," Neria said, hugging her tightly, "Thank you so much, Wynne."

"Hush, you can apologize if we don't make you better," Wynne sighed, squeezing her. "For now, rest here. I'll tell Alistair where you are. I need to go through some tomes." She inhaled slowly and said, "Because whether you let me or not, I'm destroying this pendant."

"I… alright," Neria softly resigned. "Just let me read too?"

"You're supposed to be resting," Wynne chided as she stood up, the pendant disappearing into her robes. Having it close made her uneasy. It stirred something in her chest. "Rest."

"Yes, ma'am," Neria murmured, laying her head back on the pillow.

* * *

The soft murmur of voices came from the dimly lit room, and Cullen hesitated in the hall on the night watch – to where had once more been relegated. The fact he was assigned to shifts where he would encounter as few individuals as possible had not escaped his notice. A lamp was lit in the infirmary.

"Just try to sleep, I'm here," the man's sleepy voice came.

Stepping into the doorway enough to see, Cullen lingered against the wall across the hall. It was that wretched Warden. He crossed his arms.

"You should sleep just as much," Neria softly said, her voice scarce reaching him.

"I've slept enough, Maker's breath, they let me sit in on one of the apprentices' history classes," Alistair replied. "I'm not sure which was worse, that or the ones I was subjected to in the monastery."

"Heh," Neria sank back into the bed, her movement only visible by the shadow she cast. "I thought you liked history."

"It could be made so much more interesting," Alistair murmured, and he shifted to sit beside her on the bed. The cot beside them was messed. "Besides, I can't really sleep with you making all that noise, tch."

"Sorry," she softly chuckled, turning onto her side to put her hand on his thigh. Neria closed her eyes as he brushed his fingers through her hair.

"I saw Conner," Alistair said.

"Oh?" Neria quietly said.

"He's doing well," he said, exhaling as he toyed with the strands, "He's learned a great deal."

"I hope they treat him well," Neria relaxed more.

Cullen stood beside the light, his hand tensed into a fist as he felt a flush rise under his collar. She seemed so coy and innocent. Manipulative and controlling to move the man to her will. Were it any other mage, he could have acted without hesitation to exact discipline.

"Your dreams worry me," Alistair frankly said, his voice crushed quiet, "Am I going to lose you? Was this the price for survival?"

Neria's eyes twitched beneath her lids, pale hair swept away in his hand. "No," she softly croaked, "You won't lose me yet."

"But still," he whispered.

Moving her head, Neria laid her cheek on his thigh and sighed. The hum dimmed when he was close. It was easier to swallow. After a moment, she said, "I have to keep you thinking I'm some elusive creature. Can't have you thinking I'm yours forever, you know."

"Of course not," Alistair murmured, "Is that why you've eliminated the only female recruit possible?"

Neria laughed a bit emptily, shivering as she lay down, "I hadn't realized you enjoyed being set on fire so much."

"Well," Alistair said with a dramatic sigh, "It's not quite as enjoyable as being frozen."

"Lucky me," she murmured.

"Yes, and didn't I tell you to go back to sleep?"

"Everyone's bossing me around today," she softly said, sinking into the bed.

"Not so fancy now that the shoe's on the other foot, is it?" Alistair grinned.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispered, looking up to him. "You make things better."

Cullen stepped closer as their voices fell below the range of his hearing, and his armour clinked.

Neria froze mid-sentence and sat up a little.

"Of course," Alistair murmured, "Right as you mention having something to tell me."

"I – I can't," Neria said with a blush, looking up to him. She withdrew and pulled the blanket to her, "You shouldn't be here. I've been gone too long, forgetting myself."

Alistair turned his head as the defined shift of moving plate mail drifted out of hearing. "Don't worry," he whispered, "I won't let them do anything. I don't care if they see us."

"I-I… I can't…"

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," he said and ran a hand over her hair as she lay back down. He peered down at her, "Especially if you have some big secret coming."

"Sleeping now," Neria murmured, eyes upon the darkness out the door.

"Hmph."

Removing his armour in the dorm before dawn, Cullen knelt alongside his bed and clasped his hands in prayer. Around him his brethren bustled through the changing of the guard, but try as he might, their sounds would not fade behind his litany.

.

The one who surrenders,

who heeds the blessed calling,

She shall never want.

.

The one who is vigilant, who prostrates,

who drinks of the true word,

She shall never thirst.

.

Believe in the grace of His Bride,

who heard beyond the silence,

and we shall be saved the same.

_- Transfigurations 10:2-4_

* * *

Neria grinned a little as Daylen struggled to his feet, cringing under the poultice Wynne had applied to his arm. She looked at Alistair, "He caught you off guard a few times."

"Made it difficult," he said, moping the sweat from his brow. "Longest surviving of them all. He seems to know what he's doing."

"Seems to," Neria smirked slightly. She crossed her arms under her breasts, "What do you think then?"

Alistair nodded and smiled amicably, "The best choice I'd say."

Neria pressed her lips together, watching Daylen approach. They had spoken on occasion in the few days they'd been in the tower. He was brash and thought much too highly of himself. He had verbal disdain for the Chantry and templars, and there was a quickness to his execution that was proof of what he had said - an apostate hunted and captured.

Anders would approve, she thought with a light smirk.

"What?" Alistair asked, grinning.

"Nothing," Neria softly said, rubbing up her neck to abate the humming as she looked to Daylen, "Good work."

"I rather thought so," he said, tucking his staff away.

"Quite confident of yourself," Neria said, a light colour on her cheeks as she looked at him.

Daylen smiled, "I know opportunities when I see them. I know what being a Grey Warden can mean for a mage."

"Do you?"

"More freedom than we hope otherwise," he said under his breath, tucking his hands behind him. "Beyond the Chantry's reach."

"That is hardly what being a Grey Warden is about," Alistair interjected.

"It is about serving a duty and committing to a cause for the better of all of Thedas," Neria continued, crossing her arms. "This isn't a means for you to escape. I am willing to offer you a place in our order, but I must know that it will not be a waste of my time. You cannot simply walk away."

"You - you mean you want me?" Daylen said, his grin widening.

"You performed the best," Neria said, "And you healed well under pressure - though I have a regiment of spells you'll have to learn to be of better use. We can mean the difference between life and death for many people."

"Of course," he replied, "So do we leave soon then? For Amaranthine."

"Yes," Neria nodded, exchanging a glance with Alistair. "Have your things ready for tomorrow. I have a few matters to wrap up. But consider this your conscription into the Grey Wardens."

"I can't wait to see Greagoir's face," Daylen laughed.

"I'll take up the matter with him and Irving, so don't worry about repercussions," Neria said with a grin of her own, "Their will cannot supersede the act. Do you have much to pack?"

"No," Daylen said, shoulders relaxing, "Some things I might copy from the books."

"Good," Neria nodded, "Let me know if you need more time. I'll see you tomorrow."

Glancing at Wynne as she approached, Daylen smiled again and backed away, before almost skipping out of the chamber.

"Are you certain he was a wise choice?" Wynne asked, crossing arms.

"He has a unique aptitude," Neria said, "And I think he will get along with Anders too."

"They will make quite the pair, I'm sure," Alistair murmured,

"How are you feeling?" Wynne asked with concern, "Your colour is looking better."

A rosy hue warmed Neria's cheeks, "I am... would you mind going to check our provisions for the return trip? I sent a request to Owain."

"Right," Alistair said, "Always get the most exciting jobs."

Glancing through the empty room, Neria grinned and went on her toes to kiss his cheek, "Thank you."

Turning with Wynne, the two women walked out of the practise chamber, "The pendant should no longer be a problem."

"It's been getting better already," Neria quietly said as the entered the hall. She looked down, a hand over her abdomen, "Thank you, Wynne. So far - I, well, I mean I haven't noticed any changes. So that's good."

"Hopefully only changes for the better," Wynne said, "This was very irresponsible."

"I know," Neria sighed.

"Come," Wynne said, taking Neria's arm. "I've found some things for you to take with you - readings on... your condition. Mages have certain considerations. As do elf-human relations."

Neria blushed more darkly as she said, "Thank you so much. You are a dear friend."

"How can I stay angry," Wynne said, slowly smiling, "Given the liberty of your station, you may enjoy something most of us mages never get."

The truth of what she said went unspoken, and Neria followed with, "I have meant to tell you... I don't want anyone here or anywhere to really know, but Alistair and I - and our... you know..." They hesitated as they hurried past a templar into Wynne's shared quarters. "We're leaving Amaranthine. Nathaniel will be taking my post."

"So many changes," Wynne said, reaching for a few scrolls from her shelves, "So where will you go?"

* * *

They'd been on the road a week and had settled into a fair routine of marching and night watches. Daylen was adept with a knife and easily skinned a spring foal that Fen'in brought down. The sun was hot and the land was green, and the hills rolled away into the bannorn, green with a healthy crop. The northern lands had mostly been spared the darkspawn taint.

The crack of the fire and hum of insects in the night was all that concealed their quiet voices in the small tent. Daylen was on watch, and the shadow of Fen'in lying outside their tent blocked some of the light.

"I'm glad we're heading back," Alistair said, exhaling as Neria ran her hands over his chest. "I miss Fae."

"I miss them too," Neria softly said, putting cheek on his shoulder.

"You're looking better," Alistair said, cradling her close, "You'd lost so much weight. Can we not go back to the Circle any time soon?"

Neria tried not to grin, "We'll try."

"Though I'm sure you simply love it there, it's rather boring when you're busy," he whispered.

"Heh," she exhaled against his skin. Looking over him in the dark, Neria whispered, "Do you remember the secret I had in the infirmary?"

"How could I remember what you never told me," he murmured, grinning before saying, "I recall something, I suppose."

"Have I ever told you what a wonderful father you are to Fae and Calevar?"

Alistair's expression softened, "Jokingly sometimes. But you really think so?"

"Of course I do," Neria grinned and looked away from him. "Would you ever want more children?"

Expression shifting, Alistair whispered, "More orphans you have in mind, with us running off to the other end of the country?"

Neria toyed with his hand as she blushed and said, "Not exactly." Her heart clogged her throat as she rolled up to kiss him, guiding his hand over her stomach. "One of our own."

A rosy hue peppered across Alistair's nose and cheeks as he murmured, "I know we've tried…"

"And succeeded," Neria followed in a breath and Alistair froze against her.

"What?"

"I – I'm with child, Alistair. Yours," she whispered, opening her eyes to watch him in the low light.

Alistair laid her back in their bed roll, wide awake as he looked at her, "You – you are?"

"Yes," she softly said, laying her hand atop his, "A few months along."

Caressing her stomach like some fragile flower, Alistair looked down, "They say it's impossible though."

"Maybe they don't know enough about Warden women, since there are so few," Neria tentatively said. "Does it matter?"

Alistair's eyes' swept up to hers, and he held his breath a moment before shaking his head, "No." He leant up and kissed her, cupping her cheek, "No it doesn't. Maker... our baby. It's our baby."

"Yes," Neria said, allowing herself to smile as he kissed over her face and shifted down.

Cradling her body, Alistair laid his head below her breasts, "Can I feel it?"

"Not yet," she almost laughed. "It's too early."

"Course," Alistair's voice cracked as he tried not to grin, pushing up her shirt to kiss her stomach, "Right. I know that."

Neria ruffled her fingers through his hair as she sighed, heart thudding in her throat, "I love you."

Beaming as he smiled, Alistair leant back up and whispered, "My love... my beautiful love, Maker..."

His words cut away as Fen'in barked and his shadow scattered from near their tent. There was a muted, distant curse and the sound of movement when Daylen's cry came through.

"Commander!"

A bolt tore through the tent as Alistair moved, retrieving his sword and shield to swipe out into the night. Neria rose onto her knees, crawling out quick to stand and summon an elemental aura. At her feet, the colours and light swirled to life and illuminated the men invading their campground. One screamed as the shadow of Fen'in launched at his groin.

"Neria, take cover," Alistair said as he followed the mabari, shield fortified as he sliced the man's head off.

"Not bloody likely," she said and raised a protective aura about him.

A crackle of lightning sparked from Daylen's hands and leapt between the bandits, and they scrambled and twitched in pain. One escaped to advance on the mage, sputtered curses fuelling their anger.

"Sodding apostates," the man said as he battered Daylen's staff with his sword, "We'll drag you into the Chantry. Be damned proud of our work."

Daylen almost laughed a bit, ducking out of the way to trip across the campground as Neria faded into ghostly gold, "Apostates, right. You wish."

"Maker's breath," the archer some feet away staggered, another arrow notched, but before he could get the shot off, Fen'in was on him. His scream gurgled away as the mabari viciously tore out his throat.

Alistair hissed as he battered another armoured man with his shield, a gash in his shirt weeping red. His finesse was unmatched though, and soon the bandit was splayed and bleeding out on the ground. He turned around to see the last man frozen in place, frantically trying to free his legs form their numb prison.

Neria had recovered her sword and advanced to the man, pressing the blade up to his throat, "Poor choice of target."

"Y-yes, miss, yes I see," he clamoured for the words, obviously frightened and shivering. The sword dropped from his hand and he closed his eyes, trembling.

"Give me one reason I should spare your life?" Alistair said as he took her side protectively, sword glistening red in the firelight.

"I swear, ser, I - I din't want this!"

Alistair frowned and tightened his hand into a fist beneath his shield, muscles relaxing a little as he looked to Neria, "Are you alright?"

"Of course," she said, glancing between the fallen men. "I know how to handle myself."

"I know, it's just -"

There was a low growl and Fen'in leapt on the man, the ice on his legs cracking as he was barrelled to the ground. He screamed out as the mabari swiped over his face and the sound soon cut away as iron jaws snapped on his neck and gave him a jerk.

"Fen'in!" Neria said, and the dog froze. Eyes up to his mistress, he let go of the limp man and looked up to her, his ears back.

"He did the right thing," Alistair said, nodding to the mabari and kneeling down to offer his hand. The mabari accepted the smack on his hindquarters in praise. "He protected you."

"I can protect myself," Neria said in a huff, tossing her sword by their tent. "Are you alright, Daylen?" She looked to where the green healing aura was fading from the man.

"Yeah," he said breathily, "Sure I'm fine. We just killed a bunch of men."

"I meant physically," she said, her voice softening.

"I'm in one piece," Daylen said, "More than the rest can say, right?"

Neria nodded blankly, whistling to the mabari, "Fen'in, come patrol with me. I want to make sure that was all... keep watch, mm?"

Daylen nodded, but Alistair hurried after her as she walked further from the campfire.

"I'd rather I be the one doing this, Neria," he said in a hushed voice, glancing to Fen'in. "You should stay at camp."

Walking a little farther, Neria stopped to watch Alistair trip over the stump she'd deliberately skirted. Fen'in sat beside her and watched blandly. "Alistair, you cannot even see. That is why I am going."

Alistair grumbled a little before his eyes focused and he caught her arm before she could march off, "Neria... this isn't about just you."

"Isn't it?" she said, turning around to look up to him. Her eyes dropped down and she furrowed her brow, "You're bleeding."

"It's fine, it's worse than it looks," he replied, shaking his head, "Go back to camp. Please."

"I can see and hear better," she said, touching his cheek. Shaking her head, Neria healed the gash along his chest and shoulder with a quick word, and the light faded to leave them in the dark again. The sound of Daylen swearing came from by the fire. "Alistair, I'm not stopping doing things just because of this."

"Maker, you said three months," he sighed, taking her other arm, "All the things you've done, Neria. The magic - even just tonight! How can that be good? You can't do these things."

"Yes, I can," she hissed, and Fen'in growled at her side. She put her hand on his head to calm him. "Mages have children, Alistair. Magic doesn't harm them. It's part of me, it's not going away."

"I - I'm sorry," he sighed, "This is all... I still can't believe it. I can't see you get hurt. Not when we've been given this."

Neria kissed Alistair's cheek, and his shoulders relaxed, "You never want to see me hurt. But I'll protect our baby. Just as much as you will." When Fen'in huffed a sound, she patted him and said, "And Fen'in will."

"Alright, love," he whispered, feeling along her cheek so he could lean into her lips. "Be careful?"

"Yes," she murmured, "Now let me finish this perimeter check, lest the final bandit come and impale us in the moment."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in chapter posting, had some computer issues the past week. Thanks as always for your reviews and encouragement. Always love hearing what people think of my writing hehe!**

**.**

* * *

She had been gone from the tower some days now. Yet like then, she lingered in his thoughts, despite Cullen's attempts to rid himself of her presence. She cloyed and stained. It was under the advice of one of the clerics that he had resumed his meditative prayers – though they isolated him. Isolated him more, as if many of the templars were not aloof enough.

"It was a mockery," one of the men knelt for prayer said. His brethren. "She should not have such free reign."

"There is little that can be done," the second templar replied, and Cullen hesitated by the worn statue of Andraste. Listening. As was his duty. "She and that man are all but untouchable."

"I have faith we may be granted dispensation to rein her in," the first man said, resting his hands on his knee as he lifted his head. "Grey Warden or no."

The nursed rock of anger in Cullen's chest warmed at the thought. He was not alone in his displeasure. Rightly so.

"Outside of Ferelden the Chantry does not even bat an eye at Warden mages, Beden," the man replied, shaking his head. "They are beyond anyone's grasp and revered for what they do. It would do you good to transfer elsewhere for a time."

The two men stopped talking as they saw Cullen move, and each rose in turn. Nodding to him, the templars passed, "Maker's blessing, brother."

"And upon you," he replied. They left the chantry, their quiet conversation only resuming once they were in the hallway.

That there was so little he could do seemed tortuous. That he was inhibited from fulfilling his sworn duty. The world seemed a jaded place, and in only one thing was there light. Cullen lit a candle and took a knee, clasping his hands and closing his eyes.

.

Maker, who shall be called to Your side?

In action what is right,

and the truth spake in their heart.

.

O Creator, who may find Your refuge?

Find counsel in your light,

and raise arms for the helpless.

.

That we may break the limbs of the wicked,

their names and memory blotted.

That all may be taken by Your hand,

and be lifted from oblivion.

Find salvation and rejoice.

_- Transfigurations 15:8-10_

* * *

Neria opened the door, and each of the Wardens turned to her. She let them in and said, "He's alive."

"Good," Sigrun said with an odd grin, giving Neria's hand a squeeze. "Got enough dead people round here."

Weakly grinning, Neria turned back to where Anthony and Nathaniel were helping Daylen up. The mage swayed before Anthony clamped a hand over his mouth, keeping him from retching.

"No point if it ends up on the floor," Anthony said, holding him up.

Alistair hurried to catch his other arm. "We'll show you to a bed."

Daylen glanced at the other Wardens, pale and sickly, "Maybe the Tower wasn't so bad."

"You don't mean that," Anders replied, and each grinned as Daylen weakly walked out of the main hall. The Wardens followed in tow, but Anders caught Neria's arm. "Were you planning on talking to me about all this?"

"The Joining," she said, looking to the fire before grinning, "I already know you're sore of me not recruiting some buxom girl for you."

"While that may be the case, it's not what I'm referring to," he said crossing his arms. "I meant leaving. You've been so busy readying to go, have you stopped to think about the rest of us?"

Neria blushed and looked down, wrapping her arms around her abdomen, "Anders… I can't stay here."

"And you think I can?" he bristled, glancing down the main hall before lowering his voice. "What makes you so special to run off and leave the rest of us to run the show?"

Mouthing blankly, Neria looked up to him and said, "It worked, Anders. I - people can't know I'm with child."

"So it's true," he said, furrowing his brow. "When were you going to tell me that too? After all I did…"

"I'm sorry," she said in a hush, blushing more darkly as she looked down. "I'm hurrying to leave before I start to show more."

"You get to run off and play house," Anders said, shaking his head absently, "And Nathaniel will be in charge of us all. That's really quite the sense of humour you've got."

"Would you have preferred I put you in charge?"

"Andraste's tits, no," Anders waved a hand, sighing, "Sigrun maybe? She would have been marginally better. Maker, even Oghren might have been better."

"Now who's got a sense of humour," Neria flatly said.

Anders bridged a hand over his temple, sighing as he said, "I know, far too entertaining for my own good."

"Do you want to come? Is that it?"

"No," Anders sighed again, shrugging absently, "I just thought you'd give us all more warning. I thought we were all one big happy family!" He peered at her, "Ser Pounce-a-Lot is very sore, you know. Very bitter."

"He doesn't like Daylen?" Neria laughed a little. "Or don't you?"

"No, we get along fine," Anders said, uncrossing his arms. "It's going to be rather odd without you here. Who am I going to pick on?"  
"And here I thought you were getting sentimental on me," Neria said.

"Hardly," he murmured. Anders exhaled, his lips flapping a bit, "So you're moving to the back side of a back-assed country. Very appealing."

"It will be safer," she softly said. A light colour rose on her cheeks, "Thank you, Anders."

Sighing dramatically, Anders turned to take her by the shoulders and direct her out of the hall, "And thank you for abandoning us."

"I'm not," she quietly replied. "Th-this was always coming."

"Lucky you," he murmured, leading her down the hall. "So a week?"

Neria nodded, plodding in front of him, "We need to make it for the Landsmeet. Then we'll leave for Honnleath from Denerim."

"Maker, never even heard of the place," Anders said.

"Hopefully very few have," Neria smirked. "But missives can go through Redcliffe. We'll make the trip every few months."

"Well I suppose there's time," he sighed, urging her into the common room. All the Wardens and senior staff of the castle turned as she entered. There was a spread of food and drink. "Though you've tried your best to keep us all in the dark, some people thought it worth while to see you off, or some rubbish like that."

Nathaniel stepped up and cleared his throat, to which Anders rolled his eyes. "You've impacted the lives of every person in this room, Commander, and it behoves us to ensure you have a proper send off. Our order is a family – and losing not just you, but Brant and Alistair as well… will leave a large gap."

The murmur of approval went through the room, and Neria noticed Alistair and Brant nearby.

"Though you think it's some big secret, everyone here knows you're expecting, Neria," Anders said with a sigh, and the room laughed.

"Not only are you our Commander – even when Nate tries to fill your shoes, you will still be – but you're a good friend," Sigrun said from where she sat on a table. She nodded amongst them, "We'll protect it. I've learned enough up here in the sky that the Tower or Chantry can't know."

"This is very unexpected," Neria said, putting a hand over her mouth. "I forget that I'm leaving you all behind. Maybe this isn't such a good idea anymore."

"Varlan once said something to me," Sigrun said as she hopped down and took Neria's arm. "When you live in the stone, the paths you make last forever. Your feet can always find them again."

* * *

Varel sighed and wrapped his arms around the toddler, listening to the string of words she rattled off amidst their crying. "Of course, little miss."

Neria looked down, her throat tightening as Fae sobbed against the seneschal. She turned away to embrace Sigrun and Anders again in turn. Oghren stood nearby with his arms crossed and smirked as she hesitated and pat him on the shoulder. Alistair was talking to the other Wardens.

"Next summer," she said breathily, contain her emotion. "We'll visit then if we can, I promise."

"There's always patrols and that," Sigrun said with a grin. "Who knows where the threat of darkspawn will pop up."

"How very positive," Anders murmured, accepting the hug Neria gave. He sighed, "Good luck with everything."

Neria nodded, unable to speak as she stepped back. Her cheeks had filled out and were reddened from tears. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she moved to take Fae from Varel, only to have the girl cry louder.

"Come on," Alistair stepped up, taking the girl as she stretched for him. She kept crying in protest.

"Will you come see us?" Neria asked

Glancing at Nathaniel, Varel said, "If my duties allow, Commander."

Neria smiled weakly, "Just Neria."

"Yes, miss," he said, voice cracking a little. When she hugged him, he sighed and embraced her back. "Please be careful."

"Ready then?" Nathaniel asked.

"Maker, will I ever be?" Neria tried to laugh before saying, "Let…let's just go."

Wrapping an arm around Calevar, the young boy kept his head down, expression dour as he followed them out to the waiting cart. Many of the Wardens waited on the steps, while along the ramparts workers and soldiers turned too. Brant helped her into the back with Alistair, before joining Nathaniel up front. They sat amongst the crates and sacks of grain. Magge climbed in, taking Fae as she blubbered and reached out, and Fen'in leapt up to lay against Neria's legs. Sigrun raised a hand on the steps, and Neria mirrored the action before she heard the reins crack and they started to move. A contingent of a dozen soldiers would follow separately on foot, heading straight for Honnleath.

Watching their friends on the steps, Neria didn't look away as she said, "Are we doing the right thing, Alistair?"

"I think so, love," he said, trying to sooth Fae as the girl snuffled and pouted, red-faced and broken.

"I don't," Calevar flatly said, crossing his arms as he sat in Neria's arm. Soon they descended a hill and only the spires of the Vigil were visible over the surrounding farmhouses and verdant lands.

* * *

"Cullen!"

Roused from the prayer, Cullen lifted his head, clasped hands relaxed on his knee. His eyes took a moment to adjust to even the dim light. "Yes?"

"You're on watch," the templar replied, waiting amongst the pews. "Maker, I need rest. Another bloody day training outside."

"Bloody?" Cullen asked as he stood, his knees stiff. He had lost track of the time again – he had not slept, and it was now night.

"No," the templar grumbled, "Not really bloody, Cullen. Sodding apprentices were granted permission to take their lessons outside."

"Unfortunate," Cullen replied, "Thank you for fetching me, brother. I am sorry I missed relieving you."

"Just pay attention for a change?" the man said, turning out into the hall. "They were all worked up when we took them to the dorms after sundown."

Cullen tensed his jaw and swallowed his reply, standing alone in the hallway. Running a hand over his face, he scratched the stubble and blinked lengthily. Moving beyond the meditative prayers, the fatigue rose through his chest. It was his own fault, and he'd never hear the end of it if he tried to shrug his patrol.

It was quiet down into the library, and the lamps were dimmed for the night. He nodded as he passed the other templar on duty.

"Cullen, it is good to see you," Lucia said, "Mikhail had wondered where you were."

"And he found me," Cullen replied, nodding before turning to take the outer hall towards the front doors. "I apologize for my absence."

"It's alright," Lucia replied. "It has been quiet. They are in the dorms."

Cullen nodded again, moving with a certain agitation towards the next row of bookcases.

"Are you alright?"

"Merely tired," Cullen said, hesitating. "Thank you."

"Of course," Lucia replied light-heartedly, "Just the two of us down here tonight, perhaps Johan will be up early and you might retire for sleep."

"That is - is very kind of you to say," Cullen said. He inclined his head and continued through the library. He could ear Lucia's footsteps eventually disappear back the way he'd come. Down past the apprentice dorms, glancing to where another templar stood by the barred outer door.

Back through the dark corridor, Cullen paused by the dormitories, glancing through the rooms to ensure they were asleep. It was a repetitious sweep he knew well. The times he had heard things, or caught apprentices awake dwindled – he wondered how well they knew the rotations. They knew better than to act out upon his watch. He could not believe they were actually behaving themselves. He heard the rumours amongst the templars.

Such it was that the soft gasp of breath heard through the library halted Cullen's patrol. His eyes turned between the bookcases, and there was movement again, the quiet rustle of clothing. A breathless bit of laughter clipped away under a hand. Sounds he was all too familiar with.

Frowning, Cullen retrieved a candelabrum from the table and raised it down the first aisle. Advancing forward through the rows, it was only in the last he saw the turned table that blocked the light. He cleared his throat, but another soft giggle was the only reply as the light grew. He snagged the neck of robe as he saw it lean up into the light. The young woman squeaked audibly, and started laughing as he pulled her back.

"Maker, Marina," the boy on the ground stammered, scrambling up to his feet.

"You both know better than this," Cullen said, shaking the girl to her feet, and she clutched her robes closed.

"Yes, ser," the boy replied, hands over his loins as he blushed in the candlelight.

"Oh come on, Cullen," Marina laughed. "You're just jealous."

Cullen narrowed his eyes. Her skin was flush and dilated. He turned the table aside and knocked over the bottle of wine concealed there, "Contraband. This is the third time since spring you have been caught, girl."

"Indeed," she replied, arching a brow at the boy, "Come on, Leyton, we'll go back to the dorms, I promise –"

Cullen stopped her with a firm hand, looking each of them over, "Do up your robes. You've caused enough disturbance, you shall both accompany me to the Knight Commander."

"Sodding hell," Leyton whimpered, but Marina just shook her head.

"We are going to bed, that is where," she drawled, scrambling to get by Cullen. The templar turned, mis-catching her hair and stopping her. She fell to her knees and cried out.

"Hey, don't hurt her," Leyton said, reaching for Cullen's arm.

Drawing his blade, Cullen hardened his expression and said, "You have flaunted the rules enough. On your feet."

"What?" Marina laughed, pulling herself up, and cringing away as he released her, "Rather you be the one getting in my smalls?"

"Silence," Cullen hissed.

"Mari…" Leyton softly said, "Let's just go. Th–this will be bad enough."

"Not so shy when my hands were –"

"Mar!" Leyton said, glancing at the threat of the sword.

"The Warden Commander said it. Neria had it right, she did," Marina said, ignoring the boy beside her as she pulled herself up, a head shorter than Cullen. "We don't need you anymore. Worthless addicts."

Cullen stepped to smack her with his gauntleted hand, and she stumbled back, clutching at the blood that gushed from her lip. Leyton's mouth went wide, and with tensed fists, fire rose about his hands. The tingle of the Fade connection sparked on the templar's tongue, and he didn't hesitate to strike the lad down.

Marina crumpled back as Leyton bowed on Cullen's sword, the colour fleeing his features as he buckled. Her drunken eyes dilated wide, the ephemeral glow on her hands snuffed as the longsword found her too. The half-spoken word froze on her lips, surprise and fright in her eyes as Cullen looked down, panting out a harsh breath.

"Maker's mercy," Lucia froze in the doorway, shaking her head as Cullen turned. Her head followed the glisten of blood along his blade. "What have you done?"

Cullen glanced on either side of him, a heady rush obliterating what sense remained as he looked at the blood. "They are forbidden to use magic," he choked.

Lucia shook her head and took off her helm to hurry forward, as Cullen absently backpedalled. The stains on the floor were growing. Bloodstains and death. He had seen it so much. One would imagine he could look away from something he knew so well.

"He's still breathing," she said, kneeling beside Leyton. Looking back, she harshly said, "Get one of the healers."

Cullen shook his head, eyes upon the blood. How was it so red in the dark? Why could he smell it. It smelt like her.

"Cullen!"

Fingers tightening on his sword, Cullen fled.


	10. Chapter 10

Wynne covered her mouth, steeling herself as she waited in the doorway. When Irving beckoned her, Greagoir turned as well. Lucia sat nearby, head in her hands. Wynne crossed her arms as she entered the room.

"Well? What word have you?" Greagoir asked, deep lines across his face.

"Marina has been sent to the pyre," Wynne kept her eyes down, "And Leyton is beyond our capabilities. He will not see through the morning."

"Andraste's mercy," the Knight-Commander turned away with a sigh. "And Johan?"

"He will be fine," Wynne replied coldly, "A slight knock on the head. Cullen obviously wasn't concerned with killing him."

"I am so sorry, ser," Lucia said, shaking her head, "I should have stopped him."

"You're bloody well right you should have," Greagoir replied, turning to her.

"Hardly," Irving said, putting a hand on the woman's shoulder, "It means a great deal you were concerned for the apprentices more than following him."

"I'd heard voices in the hall, I just though - I couldn't have known," Lucia said, looking up to them with bleary eyes. "He slaughtered them. I couldn't stop him. I don't know what came over him."

"No doubt they used magic," Greagoir replied dubiously.

"Aye, I felt it ser, but it was nothing," Lucia said, her voice empty. "It was so little. Cullen would have known. He's been ordained longer than I. Years longer."

"And that hardly excuses his actions," Wynne said, earning a reproachful glance from the Knight-Commander. "So what do you intend to do about it?"

Greagoir closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. He could feel Irving's eyes upon him. The smug look set within them. This was the proof he had wanted, the proof of Cullen's instability. Crossing his arms again, he said, "Nothing."

"You cannot be serious," Wynne said, advancing closer, "He slaughtered two innocent children in cold blood."

"Two innocent children would not have been found dallying and drinking in the library," Greagoir replied, staring her down.

"Then he is a murderer," Irving followed, nodding, "And should be treated as one. We must send word to the crown."

"He is a templar, and is the Chantry's concern," Greagoir grumbled, "Keep out of this, Irving. I will handle it."

"Like you handled his discipline? His behaviour should have been reported months ago," Irving clipped.

"Lucia," Greagoir's voice softened, and he touched the lady templar's shoulder, "You are relieved of your duties until we speak further. The dorms, the church - whichever you wish. Do not let this burden you."

"Y-yes, ser," she replied, getting up to salute him before shuffling out of the First Enchanter's office. Wynne sighed, watching her go.

"I will speak with the sisters regarding a service for them," Greagoir added, before turning on his own heel to leave.

"When did things go so wrong?" Irving asked, drifting back towards his desk.

"They were getting better," Wynne quietly said, closing her eyes. Leyton was one of her prize pupils. "You have to speak for us, Irving. You hold the power granted by the Queen."

"I know, Wynne," Irving sighed, leaning both hands onto his desk. He hung his head down. "Maker preserve us, they did not deserve what he did."

"Then what are you going to do about it?"

The First Enchanter shook his head tiredly, quietly replying, "I do not know. What can we do? They are not bled and stockpiled as we. He is a templar. By all accounts, that alone makes him revered. He will not have difficulty finding safe harbour."

Wynne flattened her lips, shaking her head as she quietly said, "More. I simply expected more from you."

The silence hung between them for a time until Irving finally said, "Would you please inform the apprentices of what has transpired? I will speak with the enchanters."

"It will not go well," Wynne replied. "On the cusp of Neria's visit, this will only add to the unrest."

"I know," he sighed. "But they deserve to know the truth."

* * *

Neria inhaled deeply as Alistair offered a hand and helped her down out of the cart. Calevar scurried by and ran into the compound. The rest had gone indoors as well, and heat radiated off the cobbles as the sun fell below the city walls.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Give me some mint tea and fresh air... well.. I may have to make due with the tea," Neria tiredly said.

"We could go to the docks tomorrow, perhaps. Calevar and Fae always enjoy that."

"Sounds lovely," Neria weakly smiled, "I can see Fen'in enjoying it just as much - so long as we don't watch."

"Maker forbid we see him enjoying himself," Alistair murmured, letting go of her hand to haul a crate off the cart. When Neria reached for one he made a sound of protest, "And what are you doing?"

"Carrying my weight?"

"I think you're carrying more than that as is," he said, trying to usher the box out of her grasp. Neria sidestepped him and made it to the door. "Is that a bright idea?"

"Exceedingly," she said, dropping it inside.

"Let me get the rest? I can always bug Brant if need be," he said, planting a hand on the wall beside her. "Go help the children to bed."

Neria dropped her hands, looking up at him before acquiescing. Brant smiled as he snuck by to escape back outside, and she continued through the compound, noticing the door to the garden open. She lingered in the doorway, seeing Calevar out amidst the overgrown beds. He turned when he heard her.

"What brings you out here?"

The boy held a piece of parchment to his chest, looking down, "I always like it here, Madre."

"What did Zevran say?"

Slightly blushing, Calevar looked down at the letter, "He – he left some things here. He wants me to have them. I don't know where to find it though."

The two letters had arrived in her absence – one for her, and one for the young elf. His words were taciturn, but she had gotten the impression the Crows would no longer bother her or Alistair. Alim was alive and well, and they were in Antiva City. It was all she'd heard in the year and a half since he'd left.

"What does it say?" she softly asked, putting out her hand.

Calevar reluctantly put the crinkled parchment in her hand, and reading the flowing script Neria's expression softened.

"You'll find it in the garden," she offered a smile, giving it back. "I'm not going to show you though."

"But Madre –"

"We'll be here long enough for you to find it on your own," she said, turning back to the door. "But go eat and find Magge."

Calevar huffed a little as he went by, and Neria sat on one of the raised beds. She watched the colours of day bleed across the sky, wrapping her arms around her abdomen. She looked down as a slight whine drew her attention. Fen'in bumped his head into her, and Neria put her hand on his head in reply.

"I'm alright," she softly said. "Just remembering."

* * *

If he had not already been sleep deprived, the trek into the eastern reaches of the Bannorn pushed him into exhaustion. For three days straight, Cullen walked, and the last mile alongside the grain field had him stumbling. His armour was far too heavy, there was an unquenchable thirst in his throat, and he stank. He was near collapsing when the boy found him.

"Ser," the boy reached out as Cullen wavered.

"Where am I?" he croaked, blinking in the bright afternoon light.

"Near River Dane," he replied, furrowing his brow, "Are you alright, ser? Should I fetch my father?"

Cullen pursed his lips together, a numbness in them as he absently shook his head. He had not gone without lyrium since… since…

"This way, you need help," the boy said, watching Cullen and sprinting towards the homestead.

Squinting in the light, Cullen scarce noticed as the farmer approached, speaking to him in a concerned tone. The man's hands were rough, deep lines in his features from working the land and days in the sun.

"Come inside," the farmer finally urged, waving to his wife by the house and helping Cullen across the field and past the barn to the door. "We will make sure you are clothed and fed."

"Thank you, ser," Cullen finally said, taking the water offered him and drinking it down. Closing his eyes, he sighed out and added, "The Maker's blessing upon you."

The woman smiled and said, "And upon you. Come inside and rest."

Though the house was small, they urged Cullen to accept the only private room – their bedroom – that he might remove his armour and wash up. The boy left a bowl of water and a cloth, in addition to a change of clothing. In a haze, Cullen removed his armour, wiping his face down before emerging into the main room of the squat house.

"Looking better already," the woman said by the fire, inclining her head, "It has been many years since we saw a templar outside the town."

"Town?" Cullen absently asked.

"River Dane," she furrowed her brow, before smiling again. She motioned to the small table, and he sat down. "I had imagined that was where you were going."

Cullen's eyes didn't focus quite right as she put a bowl of stew before him. He looked down at the thick broth, "I – I will be certain to stop there."

"Listen to me, you must be starving. You looked a little worse for wear," she said with a smile, pouring him some milk. "If that's not enough, please just say the word, ser."

"Thank you, madam," he replied quietly, taking up the bowl. He kept his eyes down, "Your hospitality is very much appreciated. And unexpected."

"_The benevolent spirit who opens her home, opens her heart to the Maker_," the woman nodded.

Cullen wiped his lips and nodded, a little more at ease, "_When His children are in need, be ready to help them_."

"You already understand," the woman replied, wiping her hands on her kirtle. "It's a blessing upon us to help a templar."

Hesitating as he ate more of the stew, Cullen said, "Then I am very fortunate to be guided here."

"Been on the road some days?"

Eyes down, Cullen replied, "Yes."

"So if not the River Dane, where does your order take you?"

Hazy, half-formed thoughts drawing together, Cullen's hand hesitated on the glass before he said, "Denerim."

* * *

"It is a pleasure to meet you again, milady," Arl Teagan said, bowing to kiss the girl's hand as she offered it. Fae quickly tugged it back, hiding in Alistair's neck as he added, "It is not unreasonable you don't remember me."

Alistair laughed a bit, nodding as Fae whispered to him. Putting her down, she hurried off to chase Fen'in, who corralled her farther from the table.

"I'm glad you were able to make it," Teagan said, clasping arms with Alistair. He smiled widely, "Though I cannot deny, I am shocked to learn of what is happening. But we are lucky men." They turned to where Neria and Bella sat, the elf easily taking the small child she held. The women smiled and talked.

"It is only the half of it," Alistair said, flushing slightly as he turned back. "Please, Teagan, don't speak to anyone of us."

"Of course not," Teagan said, directing Alistair back across the wide chamber. He uncorked a decanter and poured them each a drink. "But it is hardly something you can keep quiet for long. I'm certain I don't have to tell you there has been talk enough with her adopting children."

"I know," Alistair sighed, looking at the dark liquid. "It's why she's stepping down at the Landsmeet."

Teagan paused, expression shifting suddenly. Looking at his own drink, he downed the amount and leaned back to pour another, "I see. And who has been appointed in her place."

"Nathaniel," Alistair said, motioning to the man as he sat and chatted with Brant. They were covertly showing something to Calevar.

"I am sorry the price of your happiness came to that."

"Don't be," Alistair said, grinning as he turned back. "Neria wanted this. We're setting up a Warden outpost on the other side of the country. Though, I don't believe she has really told many where exactly it is."

"That is for the best, I am sure," Teagan replied, and they walked towards the fire. "I do hope you well tell me, in the least."

"You'll have to check with her," Alistair sheepishly said.

"Always deferring to her," Teagan teased, before taking a sip of his drink and ruminating, "No wonder you found a woman sooner than I."

Alistair laughed nervously, "Well I don't know, it's not because…"

Teagan shook his head, grinning, "Yes, I know, Alistair. Ah, there is James. Let us gather everyone for supper."

It was some time later, through sarcasm, laughter and wine that Alistair rose with Fae asleep on his shoulder. When Neria leaned down to get Calevar, Brant stopped her.

"I don't think so," he said, hoisting the boy up.

Neria rolled her eyes, before offering a smile to Teagan, "Thank you for your generous hospitality. I hadn't expected you to want us all."

"Hardly," Teagan said, dipping to kiss her hand before Neria hugged Bella.

"I'll bring the tonic to the Landsmeet, I suppose?"

"If it is all the same, I might send a messenger within the next day," Teagan said, looking at the babe in his wife's arms. "Her colic has been quite distressing."

"Hopefully it will help," Neria said, inclining her head.

As the others turned, Teagan stopped her, "Alistair said a great deal –"

"Ah," Neria said, a blush rising on her cheeks.

"I merely wished to congratulate you, and say that I hope we may keep in touch," Teagan nodded. "You have my word that I will keep it safe."

"It's frightening," she quietly said. "Could always just look after myself."

"And there is hardly any need to," Teagan impressed, clasping his hands together. "There are far worse people out there procreating than the two of you."

Neria laughed a little, putting a hand to the back of her neck, "We – we will speak more. We have many things to gather before we head out on the road."

"Of course," Teagan said, looking back as Bella touched his arm. "Know you will be sorely missed. I would have supported you as the Arlessa for as long as you wished."

"Thank you, Teagan," she said, looking down. "That means more then I can say." Neria waved quickly before hurrying after Alistair.

"We'll have to send them off with something nice," Bella said, swaying with their swaddled daughter in arm.

* * *

Cullen gathered what dry wood he could. He had been fortunate to avoid the rain since leaving River Dane - he could see the summer storm clouds towering to the north. He hunched down and slowly removed the most cumbersome pieces of his armour, pushing the pack the sister at the chantry had given him out of the way. The vials therein clinked.

Striking flint, Cullen looked over the farmland as the kindling took. The field to the south remained darkened from the taint, a stark reminder that though the Blight faded from minds, it would not disappear so quickly from the land.

What are you doing, he thought as he hunkered down further. He leant back against the collapsed cart. Ten paces away was the burnt out silhouette of a farmstead. People had once lived here. But now almost nothing lived.

There was a certain peace to the land. For once in many years, there was no goosebump of magic upon his skin - no grating, unnatural vibrations. It was just the wounded world trying to recover.

In an instance, he saw the flicker of blood and the look of shock superimposed on his thoughts. Cullen tightened his hands into fists, looking over the hills again to try and escape his thoughts. But the blood was warm, and it coupled with the stench of death that was embedded in his memories.

It - it had been their fault. They had acted upon him, they had used magic when they should not have. What choice did he have but to flee? Greagoir had scarce understood the blasphemy Neria committed, how - how would he ever see what they had done? Had he not drawn his blade, who knows how many would have died. It served to reason his only regret could be hitting Johan - an act born of necessity. He knew it would cause no permanent damage.

He could see the defiant look in the girl's eyes as she spoke the apostate's name - Neria. Once more the trouble in the Tower linked back to actions set in motion by the white-haired witch. Yet no matter the paths he imagined, each thought invariably retraced back to the choice she made that day.

.

_"I came to stop Uldred."_

_ "Good," Cullen's face flickered with the uncontained emotions, "Then kill them - kill them all for what they've done!" He had no control left, illusion or no, he would not stop the truth he knew. "You were not here, you cannot know! They trapped us like animals, tried to break us..."_

_ Neria shook her head, "I have to save whomever I can."_

_ Stepping up to the barrier, Cullen glared at her, "Then you are just one of them - who knows which are blood mages, or - or what other atrocities they might commit! They cannot be trusted. You can only know if they are all dead."_

_ She clasped her mouth - like she had some care for the innocents she risked, "No... no I'll save any I can. They are mages like me, they deserve the chance to -"_

_ "You have not seen what they did," Cullen snapped, face contorting with the memories. With the sounds. And the smell, the dreaded smell was everywhere. His brethren were dead. "You may as well be one of them. How can I know you are not possessed or a blood mage yourself?"_

_ "Don't be foolish, boy," Wynne snapped, before amending quietly, "We must go, who knows what Uldred is doing._

_ The innocent girl from the library was gone. She had been replaced by this thing. "Fine. Go. But let the consequences be on your conscience." He scarce heard as they left, upon his knee once more to find solace in the Chant. It was his haven in this world of darkness. Through it he would find the Maker once more and be rid of these visions. _

.

It was only when he had recovered and slept that Cullen knew it had been real. When he had tasted the purity of lyrium once more, and found his calm. He could not rationalize then what had occurred, and now as he sat by the fire, the conflict in him grew once more.

"No," he softly whispered, closing his eyes. He reached for his pack. He knew to ration what the chantry in River Dane had given him, but he needed the clarity and security it granted. Opening a vial of lyrium, he took a small sip, exhaling through his nose.

This was the right course. If he found her, he could stop more from suffering. Once more he found purity in the words, corking the vial and clasping his hands beside the fire.

.

In all things done through the Maker,

They shall strengthen you.

In His name

You shall not grow weary

You shall never grow faint

Night and day meditate upon His Glory

That when evil comes,

You may stand your ground,

Righteous and mighty in His Power.

_- Andraste 10:16_

.

Sighing, Cullen relaxed to the ground. As always, he found his way in its purity. There was no doubt now.

* * *

Neria bowed her head and stepped back into the shadow of the archway, hearing the chorus of the Landsmeet continue on without her. She closed her eyes, and Alistair took her hand, standing behind the rows with her and away from the nobles.

"That was very inspiring," Alistiar softly smiled and squeezed her hand, looking out the archway. Nathaniel stood beside Teagan now, and they conversed under their breath as one of the lesser nobles below spoke.

"I thought I'd feel more relief," Neria said, following his gaze. "Who knew I'd stop feeling safe so soon."

"Nonsense," Alistair said, still holding her hand as they listened to the proceeding. "Soon we'll be off, and they'll be none the wiser."

Neria smiled up at him, resting a hand on her stomach. His eyes fell down, and the tips of his ears blushed red as he smiled. Nathaniel smiled tiredly at them as he passed to go down to the main chamber.

"I just want to kiss all over your belly," Alistair whispered.

Looking away and smiling, she watched as Nathaniel knelt before Queen Anora. The Grand Cleric stood in the wings.

Nodding towards the woman, Alistair murmured, "She's looking a little younger today."

"Should I kiss you if she looks this way?" Neria replied.

"Maker's breath, don't even think of it," Alistair tried not to laugh, succeeding in coughing and earning a reproachful glance from Arl Eamon nearby.

"Alright," she softly laughed, attention drifting as Anora's voice droned on, shifting to the quiet conversations only an elf's ears might pick up.

"It's about bloody time that mage was removed from power," a man said.

"Removed?" A woman replied. "She stepped down."

"A politic move, nothing more," the man replied. "It has been an embarrassment to Ferelden to have an elven mage in a seat of power - as if being a damned apostate weren't worse enough."

Neria chilled inside as she stared over the assembly, unable to see the nobles below.

"Don't you think you're being a little unreasonable," the woman countered.

"No," he gruffly replied. "And Maker's mercy, keep your voice down. I'd rather not come under suspicion for having you a magic sympathizer."

"I was more referring to your derision for her elven heritage," the woman sighed. There was a pause as the Grand Cleric came forward to offer her blessing. "It is a good move, I will not deny that, ser."

"You're damned right it is," he replied, scoffing, "Why they hadn't settled on Nathaniel in the first place - his father would be proud."

"Do not speak of that terrible man," the woman replied, and their voices were too quiet in heated exchange. She finally continued more firmly, "I had meant you would be pleased he is a human. By the prophet, I will say no more."

"About time," the man murmured, and Neria's attention snapped back as the assembly stood to receive the benediction. When Nathaniel rose, the members of the Landsmeet answered their consent to granting Nathaniel Howe the arling of Amaranthine - and the seat as Commander of the Grey.

"There," Alistair said beside her, a smile in his voice. "That wasn't too painful, was it?"

"Not a bit," Neria quietly said, her eyes unfocused again.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Doing my best to keep writing with Dragon Age 2 out! I promise I'll finish the story though. Thanks as always for the reviews.**

.

* * *

Neria sat in the front of the cart, hands over her stomach as Brant guided the ox. The shadows of the city walls were behind them, and they moved slowly. Somehow this had all seemed like a grand plan when she'd formulated it, but now that reality had settled in - in reality, had passed her - she couldn't help but feel a vacancy inside.

"You alright?" Brant asked, reigns loosely in his hand.

"I wish we were walking," she murmured.

"And here I thought you wanted to make it there by autumn," he replied.

Neria looked back at the city. In the distant, she could see where the walls were still being repaired, and the land around them was half-desolate, barren from all the tainted blood spilt. The sun was hot overhead, but a breeze was coming from the east, bringing the scent of the sea. Alistair walked briskly alongside the cart with Fen'in and Calevar. The back was full of supplies, and there was scarce enough room for Magge and Fae.

"We will," she absently said.

They travelled through the rolling landscape past midday, mostly in silence.

"It's all for the better," Brant said when Neria lifted her head. The sun had lulled her into a half-sleep. "You've begun to show more."

"I know," she quietly said, a blush rising on her cheeks.

Brant smiled none the less, "Nothing to be embarrassed about. Especially with the ways Alistair makes eyes at you."

"Maybe I'm concerned he'll just lock me up when we get there," she murmured, looking sideways to where Calevar ran by. Alistair was out of his armour, and he smiled up at her. "To keep me safe."

"It's alright that he does," Brant said, his voice a bit raw. His eyes stayed on the ox, "It's a dangerous thing for a woman, no matter the Maker's miracle. And who'll be there to cover your arse if you get hurt? No other mages now."

Slouched beside him, Neria rested her head in her hand and looked at him before hitting his arm, "I'll be alright."

"So you keep saying," he replied.

Neria looked away, the landscape around her almost unrecognizable. Half the farmland was unmanageable and barren. She wrapped her arms around her stomach. Hadn't that been her? Shouldn't it have been? A chill rose through her at the bit of fear Brant's words brought. She was every sort of thing that shouldn't be carrying a child.

They were able to stop by a copse of trees off the main highway – somewhere that looked to be a usual camp for travellers. Fae woke from where she was sleeping and immediately started crying, and it didn't seem anything would keep her from wailing. When Magge tried to comfort her, the girl half ran on her stubby legs, and the woman looked at a loss.

Alistair made chase and hoisted the toddler up, whispering into her hair and swaying around as she still bawled. Neria sat with her head in her hands by the fire, Calevar beside her with his shirt off to mend a tear. When the crying became too much, she lifted her head and cast a quick spell.

"Is that really necessary?" Alistair looked at her, hackles raised.

"Yes," she whispered, putting her head back in her hands. There was a pregnant silence before she stood up and offered her hand. "Come, let's go explore."

Calevar took her hand and stood up, his sword heavy on his belt as he followed Neria away from camp, Alistair just looking on with Fae asleep in his arms. "Where are we going?"

"To practise your herbalism," Neria replied, colour on her cheeks. When they had wandered up the road a bit, she pointed at a small cluster of flowers. "That."

Almost rolling his eyes, Calevar felt the white petal that bled to red in the middle, "White nettle."

"And what do you use," she asked.

Calevar retrieved the small knife from his boot and pared off the leaves, "The leaves . For a… a remedy of the blood."

"Good," she replied, wandering farther away. He got up and hurried after her, before looking back at camp.

"Madre, we are going far," he said.

"I know my way around," she murmured. They followed the fence on the land, the sun two hands above the horizon. Looking along the posts, she turned into the dry ditch and knelt down before a clutch of red weed. "And this?"

"Burning crest," he murmured, crossing his arms. "Dried, crushed roots clean water."

Neria motioned to the plant as she stood up, and Calevar stooped to dig up the few plants there.

"Do we have to do this?" he asked with a sigh. "Brant said he'd spar with me tonight. I learnt something from Nate."

"This is just as important as your swordplay," she replied, furrowing her brow. "I can't be the only one looking after us."

"I'll look after you Madre," Calevar looked up at her, shaking the dirt from the plant. "I'll protect you."

"Protection is more than just waving your sword," she said, touching his cheek.

* * *

Cullen walked as he nibbled at the remnants of his tack, hot under his armour beneath the noon-day sun. The land around him was blighted – the obvious location of a large battle during the war - and it was a trial to walk to the city on his own. The hills rolled, blocked by half-decayed trees and blackened branches. The smattering of green where a copse had survived seemed an oddity, a bright splash of colour on the otherwise unpleasant landscape. The vegetation struggled through the corruption that stained it, eager to be rid of the filth. It was a natural desire.

He had not been out in the world so alone on his own. Raised in the seclusion of the Chantry, he had always been surrounded by those immersed in the beauty of the Maker and His Bride. The only mage hunt he had joined was in the company of other templars more experienced and hardened than he. The lay of the land reminded him of it – his only excursion beyond the monastery, in pursuit of young man who had escaped his holders. A wilder apostate.

They had a tracker with them – less a templar than the rest, but his devotion bade him take the job – to find signs of the man. They followed the apostate two weeks, like bloodhounds nipping at the heels of a fox, when a confrontation was forced. Cullen had been trapped, shoulder and shield arm frozen in dead weight as he looked on. He had felt the pull inside as the mage touched and plied the Fade, a light at the tip of his hands. The hard core flared, a flutter like exhilaration or nerves magnified tenfold, and the twilight had lit with fire.

He had to look away as the fire roared around them, and the ice on him melted away, leaving his armour scalding hot. The ground crackled, his beard singed, and when he could finally look, the hills were blackened, the tree at his back glowing as its branches burned. Somehow they had avoided major injury, but the apostate was gone. They didn't find trace of the man again.

The sweat ran down Cullen's neck as it did then, from heat of a different kind. His armour clung and ached – he loathed removing it as he traversed the bannorn. He was prepared and he trudged on, hearing the last ration of lyrium clink in his satchel all too keenly.

He knew he was still days out from Denerim.

* * *

Neria stared past the flicker of the fire, plying Fen'in's ears in her fingertips. He rumbled pleasingly, lying against her in the night. Alistair sat beside her on watch, though from the sound of his breathing, he'd fallen asleep. She smiled to herself, knowing how displeased he'd be that she hadn't woken him. They'd started taking the watch in pairs the further they traversed along the West Road, the land growing more desolate the farther they went. It was a battered and sick countryside, struggling to recover from near annihilation.

From their camp on the hill, she could see the silhouettes of crumbled homes and the base of the windmill that had once been Lothering in the moonlight. They did their best to guard Fae from seeing the land, but Calevar's questions were unending. He had come under the thumb of the darkspawn, he knew the things they could do.

The memories of what destroyed it all weighed heavily, and that afternoon they drove the ox harder and crowded into the back of the cart to expedite their journey. It was scarce six months since the army had withdrawn from the area – and the patrols from the crown were still frequent, from the reports.

When Neria's hand tensed, Fen'in stirred, and he made a low sound in his throat as she reached for Alistair. She was shaking him awake when Brant emerged from his tent, tightening the belted sheath around his waist.

"You felt it too?" she asked, glancing to him as Alistair struggled awake.

"Yes. A few minutes now," he replied.

"Maker's breath," Alistair's grogginess cleared as struggled up after Neria, and his voice cracked, "Darkspawn."

"Stay here with Magge and the children," Neria said, motioning to her mabari. "Bring your bow, Brant."

Alistair furrowed his brow, "You shouldn't be throwing yourself into needless danger."

"It's hardly needless," Neria said with slight surprise.

"Yes, but you can stay here –"

"You've taken my orders before, Alistair, please," Neria exasperated and Brant smirked as they walked a bit farther from the fire. "Let's go."

"Yes, but you're hardly the Warden Commander anymore," he replied, keeping up with them. Fen'in growled from where he followed.

"He's right you know," Brant smirked.

"You aren't even the senior Warden," Alistair dryly said.

"You didn't have a problem defaulting to me when I was still wet behind the ears," Neria said, reaching to catch Fen'in's collar. She was about to speak again, when her expression faded, and their heads turned at the soured flutter inside.

"They're moving north," Brant said, shifting uneasily.

"Protect them," she said, summoning a spellwisp and looking to him. "Please."

When Alistair sighed, Neria nodded and turned away with Brant, pausing in her steps now and then to summon the auras around her. The ground swirled to life and illuminated them in the darkness. He drew his bow as she unsheathed her sword, the blade glowing unnaturally as they hurried through across the barren land.

"You certainly have a way with him," Brant whispered, signalling down a hill, and they turned.

"I don't need lip from you too," Neria snipped, and she whistled a command that reined Fen'in in.

"He's just protecting you," he replied. They halted in the lee of a half-collapsed stone wall, and Neria advanced past him before he could notch his arrow.

The snarl of the darkspawn grew, and she hewed through the genlock's neck as the magic flared bright, a crackle of lightning ensnaring the monsters as they turned. They could feel one another, each a perversion of the other. In the light of her spells, Brant shot them down, and the land became coated with ice as Neria lifted her hands over head. A shriek cracked in place, barrelled to the ground as Fen'in leapt and ripped it apart.

Panting, she turned to fight back a hurlock, deflecting a blow with her arm before running it through. The beast snarled, baring its blackened teeth, and Neria struggled to get her sword back. Grappling away, an arrow hit him in the hip, before another split through its neck with a spurt of tainted blood. Another flash lit up the night as the ground swirled and each remaining darkspawn caught fire.

Her sharp cry drew Fen'in's attention, and Neria floundered as a bolt clipped her. Gritting her teeth and seething, she followed through with her sword and cleaved through darkspawn limbs. The mabari followed with a snarl and iron jaws.

In another few minutes, they were fallen, and Neria heaved as she walked amongst the corpses. She stabbed as she went, rending armour and skull alike to ensure they'd met their end. Fen'in ran back, nose to the ground as he checked opposite her, and Brant came up from his vantage.

"I don't need protecting," Neria said, sheathing her sword when she was finally satisfied.

"No," Brant said, moving with her to move the bodies. "But maybe you need to think about someone else for a change."

"Like you?" she said, out of breath.

"But of course," Brant scoffed a laugh, kicking the hurlock. "Like the other life you carry?"

"I can't stop being who I am," Neria said under her breath, dragging another darkspawn onto the pile. When the body rolled, her leg gave out and she stumbled. When Brant moved towards her, a flush of healing light coalesced around her and she said in a huff, "I'm fine."

"My arse you are," he replied, hoisting the last of the darkspawn onto the pile. He turned to Neria as she set them on fire, "Let me bandage it - Neria. Would you rather Alistair lecture you?"

"He will anyway," she murmured, sniffing in and watching the monsters burn. When she was satisfied, she hobbled back towards camp.

"You're a stubborn mule, you know," he said, glancing at Fen'in who huffed in reply.

"And you're a fool," she said, her breath laboured.

"Not the first to say that," Brant replied. "Here I thought you liked glib."

* * *

They met up with the company of men from Amaranthine in Redcliffe and set out towards the mountains after a short day's rest. The trek up through the foothills was slow, but the days were warm and long. The blighted land disappeared behind them and the road was muddy when it rained. In a few days time, they reached the bridge into Honnleath, and Neria met with the councilman when they arrived. A few of the townsfolk had emerged to see her.

"Please, call me Wendel. Not many of us stand on such formal terms," the older man said as he shook her hand. "Most are in the fields this time of day."

"Understandably," Neria turned with him as he walked, and Brant drove the ox uphill towards the tower. "Thank you for being so accommodating and helpful in our correspondence."

"It is an honour to have the Grey Wardens choose us as their outpost," Wendel smiled, "The times have been rough, and I know we are too far from most places to get much attention from the Queen. There is work upon a garrison for your soldiers, it should be finished before the snow flies."

"We'll be certain to patrol the lands, I assure you," Neria said, clasping her hands behind her back. She walked with care, her legs stiff. "They will help where they can, just let me know what you need done."

"I must warn you that Abby Goodwin will be by later," Wendel chuckled, "She is very eager to welcome you and your men. Her husband is looking after the garrison, he is a fine craftsman."

"I'll keep that in mind," Neria said, and they slowed at the top of the hill. "We will speak more."

"Of that I am certain," he replied and nodded before meandering back down the hill.

Trudging towards where the boys unloaded the cart, Neria bypassed them before Alistair could protest. Inside the stone tower, the cool air was a relief from the bright summer day. She slumped into one of the chairs at the bottom of the stairs with a sigh. Alistair came down shortly after, dropping a crate of books.

"Are you alright?" he said, rifling a hand through his hair.

"I just don't know how we ever did any of it," Neria chuckled softly, looking up to him. "Barely even walked the last stretch and my feet are swollen."

Settling on his knees before her, Alistair picked up one of her feet and took the boot off, "That's to be expected though, isn't it?" When she looked at him oddly, he replied, "What, you don't think I haven't been reading those books in our bag?"

Touching his cheek, Neria's smile softened, "It's much nicer when you prove me wrong."

"Can I get that in writing?" Alistair grinned, rubbing his calloused fingers along her feet to draw a sigh.

"Coming all this way made me see how... empty the country is," Neria said, brushing her fingers through his hair.

"It's going to be for some time," Alistair said, rising to kiss her brow and wrap his arms around her. She scooted forward in the chair, leaning her face into his abdomen.

"Maker," Neria groaned, "I just want a bed."

Alistair laughed lightly and pulled back, taking her hand to kiss her palm. He moved the ring off her index finger back onto her ring finger. "Guess since we're done with the city and travel now, I can do this again. We'll be settled here, soon enough."

Neria's eyes softened as she looked up at his lips as he kissed her fingers, "Yes."

"Stay in here and unpack some of the things? I think I saw Magge chasing Fae, so you should have some time," Alistair said, turning back towards the stairs. "We'll get the rest inside."

"Alright," she ceded, "But I'm going to visit the soldiers soon – if I have your permission, good ser?"

Alistair's eyes sparkled as he nodded and lightly laughed, "You have permission to leave the tower, mage."

Neria sighed a smile as he left, slouching in the chair to look at the half-bare bookshelves around her. It smelled like parchment and dust. It smelled like home.


	12. Chapter 12

"Blessed Maker," Cullen croaked as he saw the spire of Fort Drakon on the horizon. Tears nearly pricked his eyes, but the promise of an end - and the promise of lyrium - urged his tired feet faster. It was mid-day when he reached the bottom of the hill, and the sides of the road bustled with farmers from the bannorn, peddling their wares to those unable to gain access to the city. Few paid heed to the scruffy templar that trudged to the gates.

The guards recognized him though, and out of concern one joined him despite his protests, and helped him find his way to the chantry. His brethren met him with open arms.

"Greetings brother, are you alright?" One of the templars met him by the door, "Where have you come from?"

"The Circle," Cullen said, letting himself be led back to the rectory.

"We were not expecting any transfers," he replied. "I am Riley."

"Ser Cullen," he said, taking the chair as they sat in the main hall. "I - I am not a transfer."

"I'd say," the other templar with him replied, "Were you attacked on the highway?"

"Lewis, perhaps now is not the best time," Riley said, pulling up a chair as he looked at Cullen and extended a glass of water. Lewis waved a hand and left. "It is obvious either way things did not go as planned."

"Thank you," Cullen said, drinking deep before smacking his lips. "Does anything ever go as planned?" His eyes glazed over a bit as Riley laughed.

"Perhaps not, but I remain hopeful none the less," Riley said with an amicable grin. "No doubt the Grand Cleric will wish to speak with you - unless she is part of your business in the city?"

"Of course," Cullen said, closing his eyes. "I - I mean, yes, I had hoped to see her."

Riley stood up, adjusting his cuirass as he nodded, "I will speak with the Knight-Commander about your... ration."

Cullen looked down, a light colour on his cheeks. There were things he could hear that he wasn't entirely sure were there, "Th-thank you."

"Elsewise, please make yourself at home, brother," Riley said with a smile, "These are our quarters, the afternoon mass is being conducted at the palace chantry. The Grand Cleric should return before dinner."

"Thank you for your assistance," Cullen said, his voice growing stronger.

Riley nodded, leaving him alone in the wide common room. It was a place he remembered well, having interned within Denerim prior to taking his vows. Growing up in the city monastery, he had learning of the Maker and His Bride from the Grand Cleric in these very halls. It calmed him. The haunting shadows of the Tower and his actions within them seemed so far away.

Cullen closed his eyes, finding safety in the familiarity. He could finally sleep. Finding his way to the dorm, he unbuckled his armour and took one of the beds, the afternoon sunshine streaming through the window.

* * *

"They found sign of him in River Dane," Irving said, pacing beside the bookcase. "But Greagoir will not send them further."

"I am surprised you both are still on speaking terms. Three were injured in the confrontation this morning," Wynne replied with a sigh. "We are fortunate no one was killed."

"Yes," Irving said, his voice gravelly with fatigue. "Maker preserve us, I do not know what to do."

"We must send word to Amaranthine," Wynne said without hesitation. "I should have suggested it right away, but I am concerned about Cullen's mental state, he may try and reach her there before she can…"

"Before what, Wynne?" Irving looked up.

"It is no matter," she replied, crossing her arms and sealing her lips.

"Greagoir has sent word to the town chantries, and to the Grand Cleric in Denerim," Irving said. He walked back to his desk to retrieve the letter, hand it to her, "So they will know what crimes he has committed."

"Something he should have done the morning his handiwork was discovered. If that man were not against disciplining his own, we would have less trouble on our hands." Wynne sighed, reading it over. She shook her head. "Please, Irving. We cannot let him find her. Who knows what Cullen would do."

"It is not that easy, and you know it," Irving said.

"Then see if he will grant that woman who found… who found the children," Wynne's throat tightened and she rubbed her brow. "Lucia. She could join our messenger, if you grant permission. We could send Petra, she would not create trouble."

"And I seem to recall a similar discussion about Neria, many years previous," Irving darkly chuckled. "Very well. I will speak with Greagoir."

* * *

Cullen wandered through the streets in the early morning light. The markets had opened at dawn, and the bustle of fresh produce kept the streets filled. It was the first meagrely successful harvest since the Blight. He had been unable to see the Grand Cleric as of yet, and the questions from the other templars had grated on him. The past couple of days had been spent wandering the streets and docks, trying to clear his mind.

The citizenry seemed oblivious to her presence. But perhaps that was best – that they might idly go about their lives, protected by the chantry and her templars. It made the need to fulfil his duty all the more insistent. He had failed them in times past, but he would right that wrong.

Finding himself back in the walled gardens of the priory, Cullen knelt and prayed. Content with the peace it granted, it was only when he finished the recitation that he noticed another templar nearby.

"Greetings, brother," Riley said with a nod. "I hope I am not interrupting."

Rising from his position, Cullen's armour clinked as he said, "No, I have finished."

Riley nodded once more. He was clad in simple robes, his hands dirty from work in the beds, "You have been isolating yourself more than needed."

Cullen stayed standing, his hands tensing together a moment. He looked away from Riley, watching the trees sway with the ocean breeze. "I am a stranger here. I have no wish to intrude."

"We are your brethren, you have nothing to fear amongst us," Riley replied, furrowing his brow. He stood and motioned to Cullen. They walked amidst the vegetable garden. "It is clear you carry a great weight. Your work in the tower could not have been easy."

"No," Cullen replied. "We do not choose this path because it is easy. We do the work of the Maker so that others need not fear."

"True," Riley said. He pursed his lips, face framed by a dark, close-trimmed beard. "Then why do you fear, Cullen? You do His work."

Bristling slightly, Cullen stopped, "There seems so much that happens beyond our grasp – matters we should be able to affect. People who make a mockery of what work we can do."

"Is that why you are here?" Riley quietly asked.

Cullen's eyes stayed down. It was a moment before he said, "I had heard…that the Hero was present in the city. For the Landsmeet. It seems to me that she has walked the world freely far too long."

"Indeed," Riley thoughtfully replied. "You might be pleased to know she has resigned from her position as arlessa of Amaranthine – and is no longer the Warden Commander."

"Then there is still a chance I might act," Cullen nodded.

"The Queen would never allow it."

"This is not a matter of the crown," Cullen snapped, and Riley raised his brow. "The Chantry should not concern itself with what mortal rulers declare."

"So is that why you came to the city," Riley almost laughed. He shook his head and they walked again, "I find it surprising your knight-commander granted you leave to do it. And what if you do not capture her? What if she does not come quietly? She is not your run of the mill apostate."

"I am well aware," Cullen huffed, crossing his arms and stopping amidst the beanpoles and berry bushes. "Grey Warden or no, she must answer for what she has done."

"And what is that, my brother?" Riley asked, meekly clasping his hands.

* * *

Neria laughed and tried to conceal it as Fae took the small sword and promptly cracked Alistair in the shin. She could hear his muffled curse and the girl's laughter in reply.

"Serves you right!" she called out, before looking back at the page in her lap.

After sitting on the sidelines so long, Fae had started demanding she be allowed to participate in the boys sparring, in as many words as she could manage. It seemed her vocabulary expanded every day. Calevar scarce paused in his work with Brant, the two lithe bodies darting around. She could hear the older Warden's encouragement, and she sketched their movements as the man paused to adjust the boy's stance.

The summer sun was shining down, and Neria slouched comfortably in the chair as she drew. She'd spent the morning outlining a garden she wanted to establish before fall – though the maples on the hills had already started to change. They were one of the first to, and in the foothills, she anticipated winter would come sooner.

Neria looked up when Alistair howled again, and he fell to the ground, melodramatic in his pain as Fae laughed. She smiled as the little girl hovered over him in concern, before stabbing the little play sword in the ground and leaning to kiss his leg.

"Can I see?" Calevar asked, out of breath as they stopped. Brant stretched and strode through the yard to store their weapons.

Smiling lazily, Neria turned the notebook to show him the half-finished figures that were mid-movement.

"That's me?"

"Of course," she smiled, smudging a line, "Not done yet though."

Calevar stepped into Neria's offered arm. She pulled him close and kissed his cheek, when her expression faltered. "Madre?"

A bright blush welled on her cheeks and Neria dropped her sketchbook, "Give me your hand."

Furrowing his brow, Calevar put her hand in his, leaning over as she pulled it to her stomach. He knelt down and his face brightened in surprise, "Is… is that the baby?"

Neria smiled as she held his hand over her stomach, where her dress stretched taut over the swell, "Yes… I – I felt it quicken sooner but not like this."

Calevar put his other hand on the skin, feeling the foreign nudge from within, "So no one's felt this? Not even Alistair?"

A twinge twitched Neria's eye at the movement of the baby, and shaking her head she said, "No one. Just you and me."

Smiling, Calevar leant and kissed her cheek as Brant called to him, before he reluctantly let go and hurried off to help him. Magge stood by the door and waved when Neria looked, at which point Fae abandoned Alistair on the ground to run to her nurse. He groaned as he got up, and seeing Neria move, hurried to offer her a hand.

"Oh please," she said, smirking at him.

"What?" Alistair smiled, holding her hands as she stood. He kissed her lips, alone with her in the yard. "I can't be a gentleman?"

"Why start now?"

"Ouch," he laughed.

Neria smiled in reply and turned his hands to her stomach as she kissed him. Their lips parted as his fingers spread, when he stopped. His touch was lighter, and he caressed the swell of her abdomen, hovering by her lips.

"Is that...?"

Nodding, Neria smiled more brightly, and Alistair's own mirth grew as he sunk down to his knees. He shook his head in disbelief as he held a hand over the little bit of movement.

"How have you given me this?" he finally said, unable to look up as he hoped to feel more. "How have you given me all I've ever wanted?"

"I didn't do that," Neria said, her cheeks flushing.

"You've given me so much," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her to pull her close. He nestled his stubbly cheek to her belly, breathing her in through the soft, light dress. "You are worth the world."

Neria's expression softened, and she ran her fingers through Alistair's hair as she whispered, "I love you."

* * *

"Your grace," Cullen said, taking a knee and bowing his head.

The Grand Cleric smiled thinly and touched his brow, "You walk in the Maker's sight as always, my child. Come…"

The initiates and clerics around the fossilized woman bowed their heads and left at her word, and Cullen rose to follow. They walked down the aisle of the hallowed space, the bright morning light shining in the windows of the palace chantry.

"Ser Riley has said there are circumstances weighing heavy upon your soul," the Grand Cleric said, clasping her hands together as they walked. She was dwarfed by his armoured presence. "Tell me what troubles you – _For in Her light you shall find peace_."

"_And be liberated and purified through it_," Cullen replied, eyes darting to the woman in his periphery.

The Grand Cleric nodded, motioning towards the gardens. The plants were tended by lay-sisters and brothers, their status visible by the emblem on their vestments. They kept a casual pace, the elder woman scarce bothered by his hesitation.

"I worry of the politics regarding the Circle, your grace," Cullen finally said, dropping his hands. "What it might mean for Ferelden – and for all of the innocents we must protect from the mages."

The Grand Cleric nodded, regarding him as they strolled in the morning light, "A sentiment shared by us all."

Cullen exhaled out, his expression relaxing, "It is quite the relief to hear you say that."

"Is it not the case with Knight-Commander Greagoir?"

"No…" Cullen replied, and when they stopped amidst the elfroot, he continued. "He has grown soft in his tenure – and far too close to the First Enchanter. I believe he sympathizes with them, and I have been restricted from fulfilling my duties in the past. It – it was why I came here, your grace."

"I see," she replied, nodding thoughtfully as they walked towards the eaves of the castle proper.

"It is the Hero of Ferelden," Cullen blurted, and they stopped walking again. "Certainly you have heard the rumours, and never mind, the truth is an apostate or maleficar should not have the freedoms and authority that she has been given. She has taken another Grey Warden from the Circle, but even that is only the most recent offense. She incites the apprentices to strive beyond their means, and she dallies with the former templar -"

"He never became one," the Grand Cleric icily said, frowning.

"- but he could have been. He knows our ways, and no doubt has told her of them." Cullen said, bristling as the cleric nodded. His voice cracked, "I-I heard them. When they were in the Tower. I suspect she may be with child."

"Maker save us," the Grand Cleric softly said, closing her eyes. Her voice was steel none the less, "Our poor country has a history of suffering at the hands of the Wardens. They reach too far."

Cullen took a knee again, taking the woman's hand as he did so. His voice wavered, "I knew you would understand, your grace. If anyone, I knew you would hear me."

"Your plight does not go unheeded, my child," the Grand Cleric replied, squeezing Cullen's fingers and laying a hand on his brow. "You have truly served the Maker and His word by coming all this way. To bring this news to me."

"Then let me confront her while she is in the city, your grace," Cullen said, an urgency in his voice. "She is here for the Landsmeet, I know it. She will be made an example of in the name of Andraste, that all may remember why mages cannot be revered – cannot be trusted."

"It is not so easy, rise," the Grand Cleric replied, a weary pride in her voice. "But there may be a window for us. The Landsmeet has already concluded. She is no longer Commander of the Grey – and no longer an arlessa."

"So I heard," Cullan glanced up and rose. The Grand Cleric touched and linked his hands.

"Another has taken her place - one far more suitable," the elderly woman nodded, and led them along the eaves.

"I see," Cullen replied, lips in a dubious line.

"How shattered you seem, my child," the Grand Cleric said with a soft chuckle, smiling for the first time. "That it wounds you to see her free is a warmth in my heart."

Cullen closed his eyes, "Th-thank you, your grace. Though I … I am at a loss now. If she is with her Wardens and apostate allies once more, I fear it would be too difficult to capture her."

"Then let my words ease your fears," she replied. "There are rumours that she has already left the city. That she bears west with very few in her company."

Wide eyes turning, Cullen held his tongue as the aged woman continued.

"Though the Hero maintains a surprising popularity as a mage, now that she is no longer in the public eye – and all but beyond the arm of the crown – I may be able to grant peripheral support to ensure she is reigned in…" The Grand Cleric mused, walking through the sunlight once more. It accentuated the creases in her features. "_Fallow fields spurn weeds to flourish, where tilled earth cultivates grain. So do our actions in life follow the word of the Chant, in all our days_."

"Blessed be the word of the prophet," Cullen quietly said. The Grand Cleric nodded and they took the steps back into the chapel. An elf that tended the garden nearby stood up in their absence, ensuring they were gone before sprinting through an ancillary doorway.


End file.
